


Chase All the Clouds From the Sky

by kyrene (orphan_account)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, ridiculously ooc, shameless self indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-14
Updated: 2011-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-18 02:12:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 43,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just too bad that a broken heart couldn't kill a man, right? But a bullet in the lung; that was potentially deadly. Clinically dead three times over on the operating table, in fact. That ought to be enough to afford him a fresh start, oughtn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It started like this;

 _"Daddy said we have to be careful with Uncle Eames because he gets tired easy and it hurts him to move."_

No, actually, it started with;

 _"I can't believe you did that. You stupid, stupid.... Thank you."_

But, actually, where it really began was;

 _"Don't be ridiculous. There was nothing serious about this; we've just been fucking around."_

***

If Eames had been asked before the fact, he'd have scoffed at the idea of anyone breaking his heart. He'd have thought it would be much more likely that he be shot in the heart... but that came later. Well, actually, the bullets missed his heart, all three of them, which he supposed was lucky. It didn't exactly feel that way, though.

After all, a bullet in the lung brought him in for a whole other kind of pain.

He still didn't think it hurt quite as much as having his heart so effectively broken by Arthur. But then, that was how Arthur _did_ things, wasn't it. Effectively. Efficiently. Even when emotions were involved. One might say, _especially_ when emotions were involved.

It wasn't as though Eames had deliberately set out to fall in love with Arthur. Hell, that had probably been the stupidest thing he had ever done, and he had done a _lot_ of stupid things in his time. Telling Arthur had probably been pretty stupid as well, but Eames had thought that after five years of dancing around one another and nearly three years of sleeping together, he and Arthur _must_ be on the same page.

Well, he'd thought wrong. And hadn't Arthur let him know that.

He might have expected Arthur to be more elegant about it, but he was just kind of a dick. Ruthless, yes. Efficient, yes. But that was all that Eames could evidently expect in return for three years of almost accidental monogamy, three years of building affection. Three years of ever more rapidly falling in love with Arthur.

He might have felt betrayed. He could have felt stupid. But mostly he just felt... hurt.

It was actually a bit ridiculous how much it hurt. But that was what happened when a man let someone into his heart, wasn't it. Opening oneself was a risk, and Arthur always shot to kill.

It was just too bad that a broken heart couldn't kill a man, right? But a bullet in the lung; that was potentially deadly. Clinically dead three times over on the operating table, in fact. That ought to be enough to afford him a fresh start, oughtn't it?

So why was it so hard to forget?

***

Dominic Cobb was a man who had been focused on one thing for so long that he'd lost track of a lot of what was going on around him, but he had always known that Arthur was bad for Eames.

He'd thought that Arthur would have realized that Eames was _good_ for _him_ , but he'd been wrong. It hadn't been the first time he'd underestimated or overestimated Arthur, but it was the first time he'd regretted not getting involved.

Not that there had probably been anything he could have done. Sort of like watching a car crash about to happen. If a man got in the way, he just got crushed along with the drivers. The best thing to do was to join in after the fact and try to help those who'd been damaged.

Of course, some hurts couldn't be healed. But that didn't stop him wanting to _try_.

***

It wasn't until after the Fischer job that Eames had confessed his feelings, which was probably a good thing considering that the two of them had been part of a larger team, working on performing inception. Not even an extraction. _Inception_. Being civil had been vital, and they'd managed it. For the most part. After all, there hadn't been any reason not to be civil.

Afterward.... Well, after the unforgivable words, Eames went out of his way to make sure that he didn't work any job which involved or might end up involving Arthur. Because afterward, being civil wasn't a possibility any longer.

It wasn't that he was so heartbroken that he couldn't bear to be around Arthur. He was just afraid that if they had to work together for any reason he might wind up punching Arthur in the nose.

Well, okay, maybe it was both of these things.

Eames wasn't some fragile flower that had been crushed. He was an adult. A grown man. He could deal with his own emotions and their repercussions. But part of dealing with what had happened involved protecting himself. Making certain that he avoided situations that would put him in line for more hurt.

That was only common sense.

And, anyway. He just didn't want to see Arthur right now. Nothing wrong with that. He wasn't sure what would be worse -- seeing Arthur and realizing he didn't love him anymore, or seeing him and realizing he would never not love him -- so the best thing to do was to just avoid the situation entirely.

It might not be the most mature response to the situation, but it was by far the most prudent. And, fortunately, he had a good enough reputation that he had his pick of the forging jobs. He'd stick to extractions, for now. Yes, he and Cobb had proved together that inception _was_ possible. But thanks to Cobb and his creepy subconscious, the entire thing had been such a cock-up that it had very nearly put Eames off the dream-share entirely. Certainly he would never work with Cobb again. But then, Cobb had "retired" to raise his children as a good, upstanding citizen, so that wasn't really an issue any longer.

So, then, it was the principle of the thing.

That made it all the more ironic that when trouble went searching for Cobb, it was Eames who was uniquely placed to find out and to do something about it.

It wasn't as though the fates gave Eames much of a choice. All right, so he'd gone snooping where Cobol Engineering was concerned. Just because Arthur had shot him down with deliberately hurtful, humiliating words, that didn't mean Eames wasn't still deeply concerned over the man's safety and well being. And when he got wind that Cobol might be on the hunt, despite Saito's heavy-handed interference, he couldn't help but do more delving.

What he'd found was that while Saito had managed to get most of the pressure off of the team that had failed to extract Saito's secrets -- mainly by staging a hostile takeover attempt that distracted the company and caused it to reallocate a majority of its resources -- there were a few assholes in high ranking positions that had long memories and a violent grudge. And since it had been Cobb that had been responsible for some of Cobol's thugs getting wounded and killed during that "incident" in Mombasa, and since it was Cobb who had settled down and was easier to find, it was Cobb that they were going after. Not Arthur, after all.

If it hadn't been for the sprogs, Eames might well have been tempted to leave things be. Maybe get Cobb a quick head's up through a third party or something. But the fact was that there _were_ two little children who _were_ involved, if only because of their misfortune in parents. So Eames hared off to the rescue, like a knight in ill-fitting tweed.

It was a role he was ill suited to, and he was confused by his own actions, but he couldn't have lived with himself if he hadn't done it and something had happened to Phillipa and James, _or_ their insane, infuriating father.

While on his way he sent Saito a message letting him know where he was headed and why. He didn't figure that the man owed them any favours -- after all, his payment to the entire team had been very generous and he hadn't complained about his sojourn in limbo, the _lifetime_ he had spent trapped there -- but he might want to know that Cobol was acting contrary to his desires. Eames didn't figure it could hurt to let Saito in on his rescue mission. At worst, Saito wouldn't care. And at best, he might be able to help.

Fortunately for the Cobb family, Eames had actually been pretty close, geographically speaking. On the same continent, even, which was more than could be said for Arthur. If there had been time, Eames _might_ have tried to contact Arthur as well. He probably wouldn't have, but since there hadn't been time, the point was kind of moot after all.

Besides, Arthur was all the way in Paris with Ariadne. He wouldn't have been of much use, even if Eames _had_ contacted him. If he'd even have been willing to pick up a phone call or read any email, knowing it was from Eames.

Eames did get there in time, so to speak. He was in time to warn Cobb, but not with enough time to make a clean get-away. In time to run with them, which he wasn't thrilled about, but Cobb needed someone to help him with the kiddos. And, most importantly, he got there in time to prevent the Cobol agents from killing little Phillipa and James. Unfortunately for Eames, doing so meant that he took three bullets to his own chest. And outside of the dream-share, that sort of thing often proved to be fatal.

He _did_ die on the operating table, more than once, or so he was told afterward. When he was finally conscious and coherent and capable of processing the words of those around him.

His first question once he was able to speak was whether the kids were okay. He was relieved to hear that they were fine -- outside the trauma of seeing their newly discovered "Uncle Eames" lying in a pool of his own blood, of course. He didn't have to ask what had happened, why he hurt so much, because poor guilty Cobb was more than ready to volunteer that information. Eames was less than relieved to hear how close he had come to death and how much recovery time he could expect to have to work his way through, but he very decisively told Cobb where he could stick his misplaced guilt.

Because it had been Eames' choice to come and help, it had been his choice to do whatever it took to keep the babies safe, and while he hadn't exactly chosen to get shot, it was better than the alternative would have been; any of the remaining Cobb family members dying.

He didn't think that Cobb was going to give up his guilt, but he certainly hoped that there wouldn't be an Eames-shaped projection running around in the man's subconscious, shooting and stabbing people willy-nilly. Not that Cobb was still going under, into the dream-share, of course. But if he had....

Evidently being on the good drugs both clouded his thinking and loosened his imagination to wander. Eames didn't like being out of control, but on the other hand, the amount of pain he would have been in if he had been drug-free... well, it wouldn't have been worth the theoretical clarity. And pain was its own kind of brain mixer. So he'd take the lesser of the two evils -- the one that allowed him to breathe without agonizing pain.

Saito had taken care of the lingering threat from Cobol, decisively and ruthlessly. If there was anyone left alive who still had a grudge against Cobb, they were well warned that it was more than their lives were worth to move against him. Eames kind of figured all of them would choose to be prudent over getting vengeance. Especially with the entire company careening toward disaster like a lead-loaded dirigible.

Eames was pretty sure that Saito was also footing his hospital bills. He doubted Cobb had that kind of cash to just throw away, no matter how well he may or may not be doing. And no one had asked Eames to pony up the cash, even though that would have only been reasonable.

Of course, now that he knew Cobb and his kids were safe, now that he was ready to be on his way, Eames couldn't move. At first he was trapped in his hospital bed. Then, once he was at least able to make it to a wheelchair, even though this action left him blown and reeling, he wasn't fit for traveling alone. That was kind of a given. And so Cobb got to work through his guilt by insisting on taking Eames home and setting up to care for him until the point that he was able to care for himself.

And the hell of it all was, that Eames didn't have anyone else he could turn to for this. And so there he was, in the Cobb residence. Stuck.

At least he and the kids got along. And he got to see the domestic side of Dominic Cobb. Frankly, that last was more than a little terrifying.

And yet, at the same time, it was strangely comforting. It was nice to know that someone cared. That he held some sort of value for _someone_.

***

"Don't tell--"

Those had been the first words Eames had spoken once the tube had been removed from his throat, once he was able to speak, to breathe under his own power. He hadn't finished the sentence, but he didn't really need to. Dom felt he knew with a near certainty who Eames was referring to.

At any rate, since Eames _hadn't_ finished the thought, floating back into semi-consciousness, Dom had decided it was just easier not to tell _anyone_. Well, aside from Saito, who already knew, of course. It was probably safer that way. If no one other than Dom knew that Eames was so badly wounded, completely helpless and vulnerable, then there was less chance of rumors or information reaching any enemies Eames might have; anyone who might want to take advantage of his incapacitation.

Mainly, though, Dom thought he wasn't supposed to tell Arthur. He didn't know why, but he could make a good guess.

Dom had figured _something_ was wrong when Eames had showed up without Arthur. After Eames had been shot, Dom had been too concerned with his health and with the safety of his children to consider calling anyone other than Saito. He knew that Arthur was with Ariadne in Paris, and so he deliberately avoided speaking to her. This was as much because Dom personally disapproved, he thought, as in an attempt to obey Eames' choked out request. Granted, he had no idea whether Arthur and Ariadne were _romantically_ involved. But the fact was, Arthur was in France with Ariadne instead of sitting beside Eames' hospital bed. That meant that Dom could sit there... but that just _didn't seem right_.

Dom didn't feel that he had the authority to judge anyone else's relationship, but that didn't stop him from doing so in this case.

He didn't know what had happened between Arthur and Eames, but he'd thought that they'd had... something. Something real, if slightly off-kilter. Maybe they didn't need to be together all the time. Maybe they behaved as though they were nothing but colleagues, sometimes as though they couldn't stand one another, but there had always been _something_ there. Or, at least, so Dom had thought. Evidently he'd been wrong.

He didn't think he'd misunderstood Eames' feelings. He wasn't quite sure what Arthur's feelings had been, or were. But either way, Eames was here, while Arthur was not. And Eames didn't seem to _want_ Arthur here. It was wrong and tragic, and really it was none of Dom's business.... But on the other hand, he was left as the only one who was around to care for Eames. So maybe it _was_ his business, at least a little.

It wasn't as though he couldn't see Ariadne's charms. The only feelings the girl has ever aroused in him were fatherly ones, in all honesty, but he wasn't blind or dead to emotion. Just because no woman could ever compare to Mal, that didn't mean that Ariadne wasn't perfectly lovely. Smart and pretty and good natured.

Under other circumstances, Dom would have been happy for the two of them, would have been glad that Arthur had found her, and that she would have Arthur to look after her while she continued to dabble in dream-share work. But not knowing what he knew about Arthur and Eames. Not knowing how Eames felt about Arthur.

Of course, Dom still didn't _know_ what had happened, not specifically, but he thought that it must have been bad. Even before he had been shot and nearly died, Eames had looked terrible. When he'd first shown up to warn Dom and rescue Phillipa and James, he'd been haggard, his hair a mess, and he'd very clearly lost weight.

Dom didn't think that he was wrong in surmising a nasty break up had happened between Eames and Arthur. He just couldn't figure out why. Why Arthur would throw away what they had together. Because Dom was dead certain that it had been Arthur. He had seen the besotted looks Eames had given the point man when he'd thought no one was looking. It was very unlikely that it had been Eames who had broken things off.

Then again, what did Dom really know. He wasn't going to be crass enough to ask. And, really, he was more focused on Eames, and Eames' place in his own life now. Arthur might have blown this, but Dom wasn't going to. Eames was _his_ to look after now.

The next time Eames awoke he was more lucid and he asked about the children. Neither of them mentioned Arthur and even though he was fully aware of how selfish of him it was, Dom was relieved.

***

Eames knew he was sunk the day that he called Cobb by his given name. He'd been told, plenty of times, "call me Dom," but he'd never done it, had wanted to maintain that facade of professionalism, to keep up any barriers possible. As foolish as that had been when he was living with the man, and certainly neither of them was working in the dream-share right now.

The expression on Dom's face made it seem as though it was some sort of triumph for him, getting Eames to call him that. Even though it had just slipped out. Or maybe _because_ it had just slipped out.

Well, it might have been even stranger if he'd gone on living with Dom and thinking of the man by his last name only. At least Dom wasn't calling Eames by his given name. That Dom knew it, Eames had no doubt. But he hadn't offered and Dom hadn't asked, and that suited Eames right down to the ground. If he wanted people to call him by his given name, he would have people call him by his given name. There wasn't any intimacy to it, as far as he was concerned. Just a reminder of the past, the person he had been, the boy he had tried to leave behind.

The contrary part of Eames wanted to call Cobb by his full name, Dominic. But the part of him that couldn't draw a full breath, that had trouble raising his voice above a whisper, felt that the shorter nickname was far more manageable. That was why Phillipa became "Pippa", which she thankfully didn't mind. James had a short enough name that Eames didn't feel the need to truncate it, and, well, there wasn't really anyone else for him to talk to or about.

It was a strange, cloistered existence that Eames found himself in, after he was finally allowed to leave the hospital. But once he got over the oddness, he found that it was also somewhat comforting. He was tired, so tired. Not just physically, though he could barely bathe himself without nearly passing out from exhaustion. But he was also worn down mentally and emotionally. It was time for a break. And Dom and his family were there to welcome him with open arms.

It was completely bizarre and not anything he would have ever expected. Ever. But it was the way things were now.

And, honestly, it was easier to just go with it than to protest. He didn't have the strength for anything else.

Didn't have the strength... nor the heart. It was just good to feel wanted.

***

It was strange, seeing Eames so... diminished. All the times Dom had worked with him in the past, he'd been bigger than life. Loud clothing, sharp mind, sharper tongue, and that mouth, those lips that almost required an entire descriptive paragraph of their own.

Now he was... silent. Slim. A mere shadow of the man Dom had known. He was still himself, though. He was still Eames. Completely changed but not different; it seemed like a contradiction, but Eames had always been a creature of intense contradiction. No one could ever think that they knew everything there was to know about him. Because that was when he would turn around and surprise one.

Dom was still surprised that Eames had come to his rescue, had taken three bullets to the chest in order to keep his children safe. But he was also grateful; couldn't be anything but incredibly grateful. To be less than grateful would have been terrible of him. And he could be an ass, had been called this many times in the past, but he was different now. And, besides, this was the man who had _saved his children_.

Phillipa and James were everything to him, were his world, and if anything had happened to them.... Well, he couldn't even finish that thought in his own mind, because it was too unthinkable. He felt like breaking when the mere possibility occurred to him.

And Eames had done what it had taken to make sure it didn't happen, that _all_ of the Cobbs were safe and sound. For that Dom would owe him forever.

Completely aside from that... well, he kind of owed Eames for what happened during the Fischer job. If it hadn't been for Eames, Dom wouldn't even have _made_ it home to his kids. Inception had been Dom's conceit, his idea, his one chance at regaining entrance to the United States. It had been the only way he had found in two years of trying that would get him home, and without Eames, he never could have done it.

They had all played their parts, to be sure. And any one of them could very well have been replaced by another player skilled in the dream-share. But Eames had come up with the majority of the plan, he had forged Browning perfectly in order to plant the idea, and he'd been the one on the third level to bring Fischer back before his brain turned to scrambled eggs.

It might be an exaggeration to say that without Eames they couldn't have performed inception. Cobb knew of one, _maybe_ two other forgers who could probably have pulled it off... but he highly doubted they could have done it as smoothly, as efficiently as Eames had done, or added as much to the initial plan.

Eames had been pissed at him by the end of the job. Dom was well aware of that, even as self absorbed as he was. And he'd certainly had the right. But he had still come blazing to the rescue when Dom and, more importantly, his children had been in danger.

Dom would never be able to repay him, but he fully intended to try.

It wasn't as though Eames _wanted_ to be taken care of. He certainly wasn't happy about being completely dependant on Dom. But that didn't change the fact that he _did_ need caring for. And Dom wasn't willing to turn that task over to anyone else.

Thankfully, Eames didn't seem to be inclined to push to leave the Cobb domicile. Well, the truth was that he barely had enough energy to make it to and from the bathroom, and sometimes Dom had to carry him back to bed from the kitchen or living room when he'd overexerted himself. Which made his weight loss somewhat helpful, even though it still made Dom wince internally to see it.

Dom doubted there was anyone else Eames could have gone to for help. He didn't pretend to know everything -- or even _anything_ \-- about Eames' personal life, but he got that sense. Evidently Arthur was out, and Dom hated himself for it a little, but he was kind of glad. He knew it made him a bad person, but Eames had gotten hurt helping _Dom_ and his children. He wouldn't have wished for it to happen, of course, but since it had, _Dom_ was the one who should be taking care of Eames. It was _his_ responsibility. As it should be.

And if that was selfish of him, so be it. After all, Eames was the one who had asked him not to tell Arthur, right?

Well, that was his assumption. But he really didn't think that he was wrong.

***

Once he had been off the Somnacin for a while, Eames discovered, his natural dreams started to come back. This wasn't necessarily a good thing. It wasn't so much that he was prone to nightmares about being shot.... It was more than when he was lying in bed and having trouble drawing a full breath, his sleeping mind would go and decide to give him _reasons_ for the tight feeling in his chest, even if what he ended up dreaming was completely unrelated to what had actually happened.

And nightmares about drowning or being crushed when he had no control, because they weren't lucid dreams... well, that wasn't Eames' idea of a grand old time. It made him want to avoid bed, even though bed was where he was forced to spend most of his time.

And _bed_.... That was a whole other set of problems. Because the bed he was in was Dom's bed. He was pretty sure that it had started out with Dom wanting to make certain he didn't stop breathing in his sleep and, well, die. But even once Eames had gotten stronger, here he was.

Dom tended to blame it on the kids. And it was true that one or both of them usually ended up joining them before morning. But it wasn't Phillipa or James who caused Dom to pull Eames close as soon as they were both under the covers. It wasn't because of Phillipa or James that Dom held onto Eames all night long.

It might have been sweet if it hadn't been so disturbing. And yet, Eames didn't protest. Did nothing to try to get his own bed, his own room, or even half of the bed to himself. Maybe... maybe he _liked_ being held like this. Knowing that Dom cared. Knowing that if he did stop breathing, there was a chance that someone would notice, would want to do something about it.

Maybe he had been more lonely after Arthur had rejected him than he had thought. As he curled up each night, tucked against Dom's chest, he thought that it might be a distinct possibility.

He knew that he should bring a stop to it. He wasn't Mal. Hell, it would have been harder to find someone who was more _different_ from Mallory Cobb in nature and physicality. Eames was too afraid to ask if this was the same bed Dom had shared with his wife. God, he really didn't want to know.

He knew that the house had guest rooms, two or three of them, in addition to the two bedrooms the children had. Eames had never been here before he'd been shot, and now that he was so badly hurt and still recuperating, he wasn't prone to go exploring. But in a house this size, there _had_ to be guest rooms, and there was an entire wing Eames hadn't been into. Surely there had to be an extra room or several in there....

And yet Dom had never offered to move him into one of these rooms. And even though he knew that he ought to ask for one of them, once they could both be sure he would make it through the night alive, Eames didn't.

Telling himself it was for the children was a lie. And he wasn't sure which was worse; admitting that it was for Cobb or for himself. Hell, he had no idea which was more true.

Generally, he just didn't want to spend too much time thinking about it. It was hard enough living it.

***

Some days Eames told himself that he would eventually be his own man again, the way he had once been.

Some days he knew that things would never be the same again and he was nothing but a shattered wreck of the man he had once been.

Some days he could do nothing but think, and some days he was so cloudy that he couldn't concentrate on anything for more than a few seconds at a time.

Always, he was well aware of the fact that he would probably never forge again. And throughout it all, Dom was always there for him.

It was about as disconcerted as it was comforting, and Eames had no clue what he would have done without the other man.

And that last, well, it was frankly terrifying.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning sunlight was warm and comforting as it slid over his stomach, chest, and shoulders, but it was growing too bright to ignore.

Eames groaned, moving to roll and bury his face in the pillow, then realizing all over again why this was a bad idea. Someday, _someday_ he was going to be able to sleep on his side again, he swore. But that day was not today, and so there was no escape from the relentless sunlight.

He did manage to throw his good arm, his left arm, over his eyes, even though doing so tugged uncomfortably at his right side, causing him to wake further, which was the opposite of what he'd been attempting.

He gave up, lowering his arm but keeping his eyes stubbornly closed.

"Uncle Eames, it's time to get up."

From the more mature tone of the high pitched voice Eames knew it was Phillipa. A small hand pressed to his shoulder, not shaking him because she knew better, but careful pressure, her five small fingers gently entreating.

"Pippa, be a love and close the curtains, would you?" he rumbled, not bothering to crack his eyes open. He just wanted a little more sleep, when he was alone in the bed and could stretch out....

"Nuh-uh, Daddy says no," she replied, crushing his hopes. And he couldn't even resent her for it, the darling child. She was only acting under orders from the cruel overlord. "Anyway, there are blueberry pancakes and Dad says they'll get cold if you're not up in five minutes."

Damn Dom's oily hide, for knowing how to motivate him. Eames sighed and gave up the battle.

"All right," he informed Phillipa, cracking an eye open and giving her the best smile he could manage when it was first thing in the morning and he was exhausted from sleeping through another night. "Scoot to the kitchen, while I get dressed."

"No going back to sleep," she informed him sternly, looking like a disconcerting miniature version of her father. Only with pigtails and her mother's dark teal eyes.

"Perish the thought."

He knew she was giving him a suspicious stare, but he was gazing up at the ceiling, letting his eyes adjust to the daylight at the same time he tried to gather the energy necessary to drag himself out of bed and get dressed. If it took him too long, Dom would come in and help him, but Eames hated the feeling of uselessness, of failure, whenever that happened. And Dom knew this, which was undoubtedly why he had sent Pippa to wake Eames, giving him a modicum of dignity.

Ever since he'd gotten his kids back, Dom had proved to be remarkably thoughtful and understanding. It still completely threw Eames for a loop because it was so far from the Dominic Cobb he had known, but it was much better than the self-absorbed bastard that the man had been during the Fischer job.

"Go on, love," he said, turning to smile a little more honestly at the young girl. He knew that she worried about him. Sometimes he could tell from the darkness in her normally bright eyes that she was remembering the way he had looked, sprawled in a pool of his own blood after being shot. James didn't really understand what had happened, but Phillipa was older and incredibly intelligent for her age. Eames wished that he could erase that memory from her mind, wipe the darkness from her eyes... but he couldn't.

And so he would get himself into the kitchen for blueberry pancakes. It wasn't much, but this morning at least, it was all he could manage.

With one last speculative stare, Phillipa returned his smile, popped up on her tiptoes to kiss his scruffy cheek, then twinkled her way out of the room.

And Eames set about the arduous task of preparing for another day.

***

"There you are," Dom smiled, turning, spatula in hand. "Just in time; this is the last pancake."

It was first thing in the morning and already Eames looked exhausted. But that wasn't anything different than usual, much as Dom hated to acknowledge this. Eames always looked tired these days, as though sometimes breathing was too much of a struggle. When he looked his best, it was usually in the late afternoon or early evening, after he had settled into the day.

But Dom had made breakfast and Eames was here to eat breakfast, and that was what mattered. He seriously needed some fattening up, was nothing but a sliver of his former self, and while Dom knew from past experience that Eames would barely be able to choke down a quarter of what was on his plate, if that, he had to keep trying.

Eames offered him a weak smile and made his way into the kitchen, favoring his right side. He had been lucky that this was where the bullets had struck. If they'd hit the same spots on the left at least one of them would have pierced his heart. It was also lucky that Eames used his left hand so often that he almost qualified as ambidextrous; that made it easier when the right side of his chest was bothering him.

Of course, the fact was that Eames was lucky to be _alive_. But Dom tried to set that particular piece of knowledge aside. It was too painful to dwell on it too often.

As always, Dom was glad that he had chairs with arms at the kitchen table, as he watched Eames carefully lower himself into the seat, leaning heavily on his left side before falling down the last couple of inches. He ached to go over and help, but he knew that Eames wouldn't welcome this, and besides, the last pancake might burn.

The kids were ready for their plates, forks ready and eyes alight. Dom allowed himself a moment to take joy in their beautiful faces. He'd been so afraid he'd never see them again. And then he had almost lost them when Cobol had come after him. God. He was so lucky that Eames had come and warned him, then shielded James and Phillipa with his own body when the bullets had started to fly.

 _God_ , he'd have lost _everything_ if not for Eames.

"How did you sleep?" he asked the man as he set down the kids' plates before going and getting Eames his morning coffee. He knew Eames preferred tea, but he also knew he "butchered" proper tea making techniques, so Eames only got tea when he had the energy to make it himself. Which, unfortunately, was not often.

"Well enough," Eames husked softly. His voice was still weak, and he didn't speak any more than he had to, but Dom felt the need to keep him engaged, felt the need to hear him talk in order to be sure that he was still alive and okay. "You were right there beside me through the night, Dom," he added, his tone too flat to be considered playful.

Dom went back for Eames' pancakes, then helped James with his syrup. "That's true," he replied, giving Eames a small smile, knowing he should feel embarrassed or sheepish even though he really felt neither. "But I was asleep most of that time."

Eames didn't have anything to say to this, but he was sipping his coffee and then he picked up his fork, so Dom wasn't inclined to push him. Then he was busy, cutting James pancakes into manageable portions for him.

"Don't forget your own," Eames reminded him huskily. Dom was pleased to see that he was making his way into the stack that Dom had rather optimistically doled out for him. "They're delicious, by the way."

"Thanks," Dom spared him a quick grin, even though he was otherwise engaged with fatherly duties. It amused him that Eames almost always seemed surprised by the fact that he could and did cook. After all this time, he'd have thought it would have become an established fact, but evidently not.

By the time Dom got James' pancakes sliced up, gotten his own food and coffee, and settled down at the table, Eames was already done eating, and had stopped even making a pretense of picking at what was left. Dom wanted to frown at how little the man had actually eaten, but he knew that would only make Eames feel guilty over something he couldn't help, and so he just dug into his own breakfast.

It _was_ good, even though his plate had gotten a little cold. That was the curse of the single father, though, Dom knew. Only rarely did he get to eat hot food.

"Someday I'll be able to make breakfast," Eames murmured, barely audibly, one hand still wrapped loosely around his empty coffee mug. His eyes were down, fixed on his plate, although Dom didn't think he was actually seeing what was left of his pancakes. His lashes were long, casting strange shadows on his drawn cheeks in the bright morning sunlight. He needed a shave, Dom thought.

He wanted to say something reassuring, but instead all he asked was, "Do you want more coffee?"

Eames glanced up, giving him an unreadable look, then shook his head. He didn't reply verbally, but that was all right; he wasn't being rude, he was just weary and breathless. It was practically first thing in the morning, but that was the way that it was now, for Eames. Dom ached with the desire to just _make_ the other man better, but there was nothing that he could do. They both knew this already.

"I'm going to have to spend a few hours in the office today," he told Eames, wiping James' mouth free of sticky syrup and then sending both of his children to their playroom to burn off some of their morning energy. Eventually he was going to have to look into sending Phillipa to school... but he was resolutely ignoring this fact. He wanted to give his kids as normal a life as was possible, after the horrible mess of the last few years, but he also wanted to keep them under his wing, by his side, forever and ever.

Eames nodded. That was one thing that he was able to do; watch Phillipa and James for Dom while he did his work and earned the family's keep. Even though Eames had no strength left, he had the love and respect of both children, and so they behaved for him with no more than one or two softly spoken words. In fact, it was usually more Phillipa watching over her Uncle Eames than the other way around. Not that Dom wanted Eames to know this. He hoped that Eames didn't know this. He suspected he was fooling himself more than Eames, though.

"It won't take me long," Dom continued, collecting the plates and putting them in the sink. "And I don't need to go for a few hours. I can help you shave, if you like."

He phrased it carefully, but they both knew that there was no "help" about it; it was just Dom shaving Eames while the man sat as still as he could. Eames couldn't raise his arms for that long anymore, and sometimes his hands shook too hard to make it safe anyway. But he couldn't go without shaving, because then Phillipa and James complained that his kisses and hugs were too prickly. And none of them wanted that.

"I should bathe," Eames said, sounding more reluctant than eager, but Dom couldn't blame the man. Bathing, for Eames, was more of an arduous chore than a pleasure. It meant a shower stall with a bath bench, because he couldn't remain standing that long; he risked falling over or slipping on the tiles. Dom had put the bench in the master bathroom in as matter of fact a manner as he could manage, but he knew that it was continually humiliating for Eames. It shouldn't be, it was simply necessary, but he could understand and empathize. He doubted he'd be as gracious as Eames was being if their roles were reversed. Oh, Eames got snappish, had his bad moments, had bad _days_. But overall, he didn't really have it in him to be ornery. Besides, he didn't tend to want to upset the children.

Dom suspected that Eames might be showing more ill humor if he hadn't been so exhausted and if the children hadn't almost always been around.... He thought that it might be better for Eames to get it all out there, not repress everything so much, but he didn't want to see Eames lose control, either. He kept telling them both that this was only temporary, just until Eames recovered his strength, then everything would be okay. He didn't think that Eames believed this any more than he believed it himself, but he felt like he had to say it.

"Do you need any help?" he asked, because he couldn't not. Even though he knew how much Eames hated it, the truth was that if he was having a bad day, he would need help. And as much as he couldn't bear to hear Dom ask, even less was he able to speak up and ask for it himself. So Dom chose the lesser of two evils.

Eames winced, but looked fairly calm as he shook his head. "No, I think I'll be okay," he rasped, giving Dom a smile that was as much sincere as sickly.

Dom nodded, trying to keep his own expression more placid than sympathetic, because even though he was _feeling_ sympathy, he knew Eames didn't want to see it on his face. "I'll come in once you're done and give you that shave," he said.

Eames grimaced but nodded, then collected himself to make the move to standing upright. Dom wanted to go and help him to his feet, but he also knew from past experience that this would be taken poorly. So, instead, he kept an eye on Eames, using a damp cloth to wipe down the sticky tabletop where James had sat, so that he was not-so-coincidentally close enough to catch Eames if he should falter or fall.

Eames made it up all right, though, and left the kitchen at a decent speed, for him. Dom quickly finished up the dishes and then went to check on the kids. And once he was through with that, he would head for the master bath. Hopefully by then Eames would be bathed and clothed, though it wouldn't be the end of the world if he wasn't....

Dom had seen Eames in all manner of undress since he had brought him home from the hospital. He certainly wasn't squeamish about nudity, even though it made something inside him squirm with mild horror and searing guilt whenever he saw the scars on Eames' chest and torso. They were small, barely even noticeable -- aside from one that had very nearly ruined one of Eames' tattoos -- but they were a reminder. Of the bullets that had gone in and ripped through vital organs. Of the fact that Eames had shielded Dom's kids with his own body. Of the fact that no matter how well Eames recovered, he was never going to be quite the same again.

And yet, there was something strangely comforting at the same time. Knowing that Eames had been willing to take those bullets for James and Phillipa. Knowing that his children would be safe with Eames. Knowing that Eames had _cared_ , even though it was for Dom's babies and not Dom himself.

Dom had never expected any loyalty from Eames. Eames' loyalty had always been to whomever could pay him the most, and he'd have been willing to turn coats for anyone who offered more, or a more lucrative deal. But Eames was also a good man, who wasn't about to let two innocent children get killed, and Dom was really happy to know this for sure now.

Wandering to the playroom, Dom watched James and Phillipa, enthralled by the sight of his children; alive, happy, healthy, and here with him.

It had taken a lot to get things put to right after Mal's suicide, and then when Cobol had made their move Dom might have lost it all, all over again.

Thanks to Eames, that hadn't happened. And Dom was never going to stop being grateful for that fact.

***

Eames had actually finished showering and donned a pair of trousers before Dom joined him in the master bath, which was a little unexpected, but Eames was just as glad. He always felt so vulnerable and ill at ease when Dom saw him naked. Eames wasn't some prudish maiden. He just... didn't want to show any more belly than he already had done. Figuratively speaking. After all, he had precious little left to him by way of pride. Being half dressed when Dom came in to shave him -- and wasn't that in itself humiliating enough -- was at least something.

"How are you feeling?" Dom asked, hesitating in the doorway. It was a fair question, and he had every right to ask it, Eames reminded himself. After all, Dom was going to be trusting Eames to watch his children while he worked. He kind of needed to know whether Eames was up to it.

"Fine," he answered shortly, because even though he knew that it was a fair question, that didn't mean that he was going to be able to answer it gracefully.

Dom took this easily enough, just nodding and stepping into the room. Sometimes it kind of drove Eames crazy, how even tempered and reasonable Dom was now, because that hadn't been what he had known, wasn't what he expected. He had to admit, though, that it made his own life easier.

"Ready?" Dom asked, quirking a brow.

Eames contemplated putting on a shirt, but then Dom would have to be careful with the shaving cream around the collar. So he just nodded.

"Sorry it took me a while," Dom said as Eames propped himself on a high stool they kept in the bathroom just for this purpose. Between that and the bath bench, it was a good thing the master bath was a large room. It still made Eames wince to know how much room he was taking, and how much Dom had to work around him, instead of Eames being able to pull his own weight. "I was playing with the kids."

And then there was that, as well, digging the knife of guilt deeper.

"I'm sorry," Eames rasped, hanging his head even though Dom had already picked up the shaving cream.

"For what?" Dom asked, frowning.

Eames waved a hand, not wanting to have to spell it out, even if speaking got easier as the day progressed. "You should be spending all your time with them. Not having to pander to me."

Dom frowned even more, his eyes narrowing in that familiar intensity. "Eames," he said chidingly, and for a wonder it didn't set Eames' teeth on edge. But then, he was just tired. Tired of it all, and ready to crawl back into bed and sleep the rest of his life away. "Eames," Dom repeated, gaining his flagging attention with the sharpness of his tone, "If it wasn't for you and what you did, I wouldn't still _have_ my children!"

They both winced at this, and Dom bit his lower lip, gentling his voice. "It's the truth, though. So, while I don't mind helping you out with things like this anyway, that means that I have even more reason to do so. And it's not about guilt or pity. It's about a debt owed. The kids understand and they love you. And besides," he smiled crookedly, shaking the shaving cream briskly, "Do you really think that any Dad wants to spend _every_ waking moment with his children?"

Eames couldn't help the corner of his lip twitching upward a little at this, even though he didn't do much smiling anymore when it wasn't at James or Phillipa. "All right," he agreed mildly. Because his own father certainly hadn't wanted to spend much time with him while he'd been growing up. Of course, he knew that Dom was better than this, that he truly loved his children, and Phillipa and James were amazing little human beings. So it _was_ different, but Dom still had a point.

"It doesn't really take me that much extra time to give you a shave, anyway," Dom said conversationally as he spread the foam on with efficient but careful fingers. He was standing so close that Eames could feel his body heat, could smell that Dom hadn't yet showered that day -- nothing unpleasant, just a mild scent of sleep sweat and the powerful odor of man -- and his crystal blue eyes were intent on Eames' face.

It felt a little strange, being so close to another person, after his break with Arthur, but it wasn't as though this was something unusual. Dom shaved Eames' face for him every morning. He held him in his arms while they slept at night. When they sat on the sofa to watch programming with the children in the evening, there was hardly any space between them, and often Dom would sling a friendly arm around Eames, drawing him close and giving him a shoulder or a lap to drift to sleep on.

It wasn't just about the time spent shaving, Eames thought rebelliously, even though he was too weary and lazy to actually protest aloud. It was _all_ the time that Dom squandered on him. But he knew saying something to that effect would only anger the other man. And so he elected to remain silent.

Probably for the best as Dom wielded the razor around his mouth, anyway.

***

Eames was silent the rest of the time they were in the bathroom, tilting his head this way and that as Dom directed with firm pressure of his fingertips. Dom had a feeling this wasn't the end of their conversation, that he hadn't managed to banish Eames' insecurities or guilt, but for right now he concentrated on what he could do for Eames. Namely, getting him clean-shaven and ready to face the rest of the day.

Once they were finished, he helped Eames into a shirt. Eames could do it himself as long as it was a button-up, but there was always a strange sort of intimacy that developed between them whenever Dom helped Eames shave, and he was loath to give that up immediately.

"Thanks," Eames mumbled, standing there while Dom did up his buttons, because today was a bad day for his hands, and it would have taken him several times as long to make his shaking fingers do this task.

Dom pressed a quick kiss to Eames' forehead, then took a step back as Eames' head snapped up in surprise. Even though this hadn't been the first time Dom had done something like that.... Well, but then, Dom pondered, it might have been the first time while Eames was fully conscious, and not lost in a haze of drugs or pain, or mostly asleep.

"Do you want me to put off my work?" he asked, concerned by the way Eames' hands were shaking. He seemed to be doing fine otherwise, but that was always a bad sign.

Eames scowled at him fiercely, looking almost like his old self. Minus quite a bit of weight and color, that was. "I'll be fine!" he snapped, and this time he might actually have been breathless with anger. "Anyway." His full lips cut wryly to the side, and Dom found himself fixated on them. "James and Pippa are little angels for me. It's no work to watch them."

Dom nodded, a little distracted, wondering when exactly he had begun to notice how sensual Eames' mouth was. Oh, he'd had an awareness of it for quite some time now. But it had never seemed so immediate. So applicable to himself before....

"Dom." And there was one of those lightning fast changes in mood that Eames sometimes had. Dom was glad this time, though, because the anger had drained away. He didn't like the way Eames looked so tired and worn, though.

"Yeah?" he asked, placing a hand on Eames' shoulder, and trying to pretend to both of them that it was only friendly, and not because Eames looked a little like he was about to fall over.

"Do you still..." Eames paused and licked his lips. Dom tried to ignore the surge of warmth this raised in his chest. That was easier for him to do as Eames continued. "Do you still want to turn to her and tell her something... or ask her something?"

"Every goddamn day," Dom replied without hesitation. Because it was true. Even if he had no idea why Eames was suddenly talking about Mal.

"So it never gets better," Eames mumbled, shoulders slumping in defeat. At this point it wasn't clear whether he was talking to Dom or to himself.

"It gets better," Dom offered, because that was true as well, and he couldn't stand the devastated look on Eames' face. "It never goes away, but it gets better. And you find other reasons to go on. Other people to love."

"Like your kids," Eames said, glancing up at him, the corners of his mouth curling in a small, fond smile. Then he grimaced. "I'm sorry, Dom."

"For what?" Dom asked, honestly confused. It had been nice to see Eames actually smile for a moment there.

"For comparing your loss to mine." Eames cut his gaze to the side. "I know they're nothing alike."

Dom's brows rose. This was the first time Eames had raised the subject of himself and Arthur, even obliquely. He was pleased, because it couldn't be good for Eames to always keep it bottled in all the time, and he was proud that Eames was growing to trust him. But he was also terrified of blowing it, of messing this up somehow.

"A loss is a loss, Eames," he said softly, and Eames didn't resist as he moved them both over until they could sit on the edge of the bed. "In part, I took mine so badly because I was riddled with guilt over having incepted Mal, having been the reason behind her suicide. But any time you lose someone you love for any reason, it's going to hurt like nothing else in the world."

Eames nodded, his lower lip extended thoughtfully. Dom remembered that mannerism from their jobs together in the past, but he didn't recall having had such a visceral reaction to it before. Then Eames suddenly startled in the circle of Dom's arm. "I never said anything about love," he protested as vigorously as he was able in his broken, raspy voice.

"You didn't have to," Dom replied, pressing his lips to Eames' temple without thinking. His mind raised shades of kissing Mal the same way, but Eames was something completely _other_. He was a man, for one thing, obviously. His hair was shorter and scented with Dom's shampoo, prickling at Dom's nose and upper lip. He shifted uncomfortably in Dom's half embrace, rearing back a little in order to meet his eyes.

"Dom," he breathed, but it wasn't a protest and it wasn't a warning. Maybe it was that, or maybe it was the confusion and lingering pain in Eames' warm grey eyes, but suddenly something in Dom's chest pinched, and before he quite knew what he was doing, he leaned in and kissed Eames a third time, this time on the mouth.

It was only a quick brush of lips on lips, but it was monumental and changed everything in that instant. Certainly Eames looked shattered when Dom pulled back.

"Dom," he gasped breathlessly, even though his breathing was actually doing all right for a change.

"I won't apologize for that," Dom informed him evenly, though he kind of thought that Eames deserved an explanation. Too bad Dom didn't really have much more idea than Eames did why he had done it. It had just seemed to be the right move to make. And Dom didn't regret it.

Eames lowered his eyes, hiding behind long lashes, two spots of pink high on his otherwise pale cheeks. "Dom, come on," he said to his tightly clasped hands. "I know you're not...."

"Not what, Eames?" Dom pushed, even though it made him feel like a dick, even though he wasn't sure himself where he was coming from or where he was heading. "How do you know what I'm not? Maybe I'm more flexible than you're giving me credit for being."

"I wasn't going to say gay or bi," Eames rasped, still not raising his eyes, still flushed. "Although that would surprise me almost as much as the--" He broke off and licked his lips, and Dom sort of wished he'd kissed him more soundly, even though that probably wouldn't have been a good idea.

"What, then?" he prompted softly, not wanting to push Eames when he seemed to brittle, but unable to help himself. It occurred to him that it might have been some seriously bad timing on his part; going from Eames finally opening up about what had happened between he and Arthur to Dom putting the moves on him.... But bad timing aside, Dom had only done what had seemed to him natural and necessary.

"I was going to say.... That I know you're not in love with me."

And there it was, right out there. And Dom was... kind of okay with that. He was going to have to do some introspection and self exploration. But what was it that he felt for Eames if not love? The man had single-handedly saved the Cobb family, he'd almost lost his life protecting Dom's children from being shot, and he was... well, he was _Eames_. Attractive, intelligent, intuitive, cranky, gentle with the kids, sleepy, sweet, instinctively polite at times and downright rude at others. He was human and flawed, but so genuinely perfect for all that. And maybe Dom was only coming to realize this all at once, but the emotions and knowledge had been brewing for quite some while. Ever since Eames had come blazing to the rescue, closely followed by Cobol.

"Are you so sure of that?" he asked softly, leaning in to try to catch Eames' eye.

"Dom...." Eames sounded agonized, and Dom regretted that he had put that pain there, but he wasn't going to take back what he had said. What he had implied.

"Let's talk about this later," he offered. And he could see the shame of giving in on Eames' face, but Eames went along with this.

And so the two of them went about the rest of their day as though nothing had happened.


	3. Chapter 3

After lunch Dom went into his office to work. Eames watched the children. Phillipa and James played, as kids were wont to do. All the while, Eames' brain was working away at what had happened, and any possible reasons _why_

He hadn't really come up with anything by the time dinner rolled around.

Even though he was confused and a little concerned, everything was just as domestic as it had ever been. And Eames realized that he had grown used to this. He never would have thought that he might have enjoyed this so much. Before being shot, he had reveled in action, adventure, or at least a fair amount of excitement in his immediate surroundings. Perhaps in rebellion to his staid, repressed upbringing... or maybe that was just the way he was.

But now, sitting at the Cobb dinner table, with hot and delicious food before him and James and Phillipa more than holding up the conversation in their young, piping voices, Eames found that he wasn't out of his element, as he would have expected if someone had described this situation to him a year or even six months earlier. Maybe it had been a gradual thing, maybe not, but whether it was because he was tired and weak and clinging to comfort wherever he could get it, he felt that he was beginning to understand why Dom had been willing to risk so much to get back to his kids, to get home to this.

Of course, Dom had still been a dick about it, risking Eames and the others' lives without fully informing them first for his own gain. But even if he still didn't _approve_ , Eames thought that now he at least _understood_.

Eames actually ate more of his dinner than he usually managed, and he felt both happy and angry when he caught the pleased, approving look that Dom gave him. He knew objectively that there wasn't anything wrong with Dom noticing, worrying, nagging at him. But Eames had once been an independent being, a grown man who could monitor his own food intake without taking shit from anyone else about it. And it was hard to let that go now, to recognize that he was no longer independent. Not when he was, in fact, completely _dependent_ on Dom.

This was tough on him, but he supposed it was better than being dead. Even at his lowest and more depressed, Eames wasn't inclined to think suicidal thoughts. In fact, he'd been told in the past that his sense of self preservation was one of his most defining traits. He considered that to be a load of bull, however. It had to be his charm or his ability to adapt to and manipulate any situation he found himself in. Nothing so pedestrian and unflattering as simple self preservation. Hell, most living creatures possessed that in spades. No, it was what ingenious things he was able to _do_ in order to stay alive that made Eames special, not the survival instinct itself.

He wanted to be admirable, not just memorable.

"Are you okay?" Dom asked him gently, calling Eames' attention to that fact that he had been essentially shredding a roll into the remains of his potatoes and gravy. Dom tended to ask this several times a day, but in different tones, giving the familiar words different meanings. Right now there was a pinched line between his brows, and it came to Eames that Dom probably thought he was fretting over the fact that Dom had kissed him. Which he actually wasn't right now, even though he had been earlier.

He hadn't come any closer to an explanation on his own mind, so he'd decided that the only thing to do was to ask Dom. But not until after dinner.

"Fine," he replied, and he managed to smile as he said it. Because his life was new and strange now, but Dom and the kids made it bearable. And they all cared bout him so obviously. It would be remarkably churlish of him not to return this affection in kind.

Besides which, Phillipa and James made it easy for him to care about them. At first he had come to save them because that was what a man did when innocent children were in danger. But the more he had gotten to know them, the more he had grown to truly care about them. They made it easy, with their bright eyes and brighter minds and their open hearts.

It didn't matter that they hadn't known Eames when he had first shown up; he was "Uncle Eames" now, and they treated him as though he were part of the family. It was both comforting and disturbing to Eames in equal parts. It had been a long time since he had been part of something that he considered to be a _real_ family.

Of course, the Cobb family was not whole, was missing one fourth of its number, and Eames certainly could not take Mal's place. Not in any shape or manner. But Dom was past the worst of his crippling guilt, Phillipa was adjusting, and James was so young that even though he still missed Mal, he could barely remember what it had been like to have a mother. It wasn't ideal, but since she was hardly going to come back from the dead for them, it was best that the Cobbs move on to the extent that they were able to do so.

So it may have been a slightly broken family that Eames had become a part of, but he couldn't deny that he was indeed a part of it. And perhaps the oddest part was that he had found that he _wanted_ to be a member of the family. That he had settled into the spot they had opened in their hearts for him.

A part of him felt as though he should be horrified by this, that he should be fighting it, doing everything he could to escape. But the truth was that he couldn't run, wasn't going to be able to function on his own. He was stuck here.

But it wasn't just his inability to get up and walk out that was keeping him here. He actually liked living here. For the longest time he had felt that he was a guest, a burden, someone who was a stranger to the children and who would leave once he was recovered enough.

Someday he _would_ recover. Someday he would be able to do things like shaving on his own and showering without having to sit down. But even then, when that day came, how would he be able to turn his back on Phillipa and James?

And Dom.... But Eames was feeling a bit touchy on the subject of Dom and the future right now.

For instance, they were going to have to discuss that kiss at some point. Soon. Probably once the kids were in bed. Eames was... not exactly looking forward to this. But it would perhaps be preferable to this uncertain limbo he was floating in....

"Uncle Eames?"

"Yes, love?" He shook off his distraction and gave Phillipa a fair approximation of a smile. He suspected she could tell the difference; children were canny and she was brilliant. But he hoped that she would appreciate the effort.

She had him fixed with a speculative look, but didn't seem put off. "Do you think you can help me with my scrapbook tonight, before bedtime?"

That, at least, was something that he was able to do. He couldn't play with the kids in the usual way, didn't have enough breath for bedtime stories even, but he could work with Phillipa when she did something quiet like pasting photos and cardboard into her large scrapbook. Dom said it was a hobby that Ariadne had introduced his daughter to the last time she had visited -- before Cobol had struck and Eames had become a household fixture -- and while Eames thought that it was a bit archaic, he could admit that Phillipa was suited to it. It really showed her artistic side, and if she was already this good, she was going to be amazing by the time she was an adult.

And art was something Eames knew. After all, he hadn't only been a forger in the dream-share.

"I'd be happy to, Pippa," he told her, and he felt his smile grow true and unforced, reflecting a little of the light of her wide grin back at her.

"I wanna scrapbook!" James spoke up vigorously, waving his fork about. Like most younger siblings he'd insisted on mimicking his sister, and had given scrapbooking a try as well. But he was too young and hadn't the patience for it, and the entire exercise generally ended in frustration and whining. That didn't stop him wanting to give it another go each time the subject came up, however.

"How about we go into the shop and work some more on your wooden train set?" Dom suggested evenly, shifting James' attention and giving him something equally impelling to focus on. And it would serve to keep James and his sticky fingers away from Phillipa while she worked; something all of them could appreciate.

Sometimes being a father meant playing both arbitrator and ringmaster, Eames thought fondly. And Dom did it very well. For all he had mostly ignored Eames and Arthur sniping at one another when they had been working together in the past.... But that was somewhere Eames very much didn't want to go. Not now and not ever.

Besides, he and Arthur were not Dom's children, had only been occasional colleagues. Occasional colleagues who fucked but were evidently not in love -- at least not from Arthur's side of it.

James was cheering and bouncing in his seat, Phillipa looked pleased and relieved to have her brother out of her hair, and Dom was giving Eames a sharp, worried look.

Dammit, the man could tell when Eames had merely been thinking passingly about Arthur! When had he grown so adept at reading Eames? And when had Eames grown so easy to read?

Well, to be honest, about the same time that three bullets had struck his chest, collapsing his lung, and completely changing his life as he knew it, Eames supposed.

Phillipa hopped down off her chair and gave Eames a very careful, very gentle hug, and a soft little-girl kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Uncle Eames," she said.

And Eames thought that maybe this new life, this loss of his barriers, maybe it was all right. Because what he got in return for giving up so much was even more.

"Thank _you_ , love," he whispered to her. And she gave him a funny look, but he thought that maybe she understood what he had meant.

And if she didn't now, well, someday she would.

***

Eames hadn't said anything about the fact that Dom had kissed him, but Dom hadn't really expected that he would do so during dinner.

Dom didn't regret what he had done. But he did regret that Eames had taken it poorly. Or at least less than well. And he knew that they were going to have to talk about it at some point.

Dom spent time with James in the shop, working on the toy train set that he was carving out of wood. He did the dangerous parts involving blades and lathes when he was in there alone, of course, but James was capable of rubbing sandpaper over the pieces and daubing on finish, as long as he had gloves and an apron on. Dom enjoyed spending time with his son, one on one, and it was even better that he knew he was giving James a sense that he could _do_ things, that he was being useful and helpful, that he would have a hand in the creation of his own toys.

And he was happy knowing that Eames was keeping Phillipa occupied and busy -- and vice versa -- in the kitchen. Eames might like to pretend that he was only humoring Dom's daughter, but the fact was the he enjoyed scrapbooking almost as much as Phillipa did. Creating without exertion. Eames couldn't enter the dream-share now -- even if Dom had owned a PASIV device -- because the sedation was too dangerous for him in his weakened state.

Neither of them knew whether Eames would be able to return to working in the dream-share at any point in the future, but for right now, it was nice when Eames was actually able to do something, _anything_ , even if it was only scrapbooking. And Eames had always been good at art, even if Phillipa's spelling was occasionally better than his own.

They had dessert as a family, once all of Phillipa's supplies were cleaned off the table, then Dom read the kids a bedtime story while Eames did whatever he did when he had some private time. Dom never pried. Eames had been robbed of so much independence that he valued every little bit that he had, and Dom knew to let him have it. He _wanted_ to let Eames have his independence, inasmuch as that was possible.

Dom knew that sometimes Eames spent this precious "free" time on the laptop he had gotten for him -- Eames had arrived with nothing but the clothing on his back, which had then been ruined, shot full of holes and soaked in blood, so Dom had supplied him with everything that he had needed since then -- and that sometimes he read or simply watched television. As far as Dom was concerned, Eames deserved every moment he got to spend doing whatever he wanted, especially on days when he had watched the children. Even though that didn't stop him from fretting whenever Eames was out of his sight for any amount of time.

Once James and Phillipa were tucked in, both kissed goodnight even though Dom knew damned well that at least one of them would be in bed with he and Eames before morning, he took the opportunity to have a quick shower, then went to track Eames down.

He wasn't in the bedroom. Sometimes he was napping on the bed, exhausted by the day and getting a head start on retiring, but not tonight. Nor was he in Dom's study, slouched in the comfy reclining chair with his laptop. When he wasn't in the living room, Dom really began to wonder. The television was off and cold to the touch, and the places that Eames could be had been severely reduced.

Padding barefoot into the kitchen, Dom let out a silent breath of relief.

"There you are," he murmured, feeling his lips turn up in a wide smile. Eames was in his pajamas, but looked more awake than he had during the rest of the day, and he was standing next to the stove, leaning seemingly casually against the countertop. Almost as though he didn't need to do so in order to keep himself upright for an extended period of time.

"I'm making us some cocoa," Eames told him, and he didn't smile in return, but the darkness in his eyes lightened. "Don't tell the kids they missed out."

Dom's smile widened and he crossed to join Eames before the stove. Eames was indeed heating some hot chocolate, and it looked rich and delicious. "Go ahead and sit down," he instructed gently, placing a careful hand on Eames' left shoulder and squeezing, fighting the nearly overwhelming urge to lean in and kiss Eames' lightly flushed cheek. Because that might feel natural to him, but right now it would not be a good idea. "I'll finish this up."

Eames looked for a moment as though he would protest, but then he nodded once and after giving Dom a long, searching look, as though he had read his mind, he made his way over to the table. Dom noted with pleasure that he was moving easily and not favoring his right side as badly as he had done that morning. But then, Eames usually did feel better toward the end of the day than in the morning.

Once Dom had portioned the hot chocolate out and added marshmallows to the top of his -- he already knew that Eames preferred his without -- he carried the steaming mugs over to the table and joined Eames.

"Thank you," Eames husked.

"Thank _you_ for making it," Dom replied, even though he suspected he knew why Eames had done so.

And, sure enough, once the two of them had taken a few careful sips, Eames set his mug down and asked, so quietly that Dom almost couldn't hear him; "All right. So. Why did you kiss me, Dom?"

Dom had been considering his reply to this pretty much since he had done it, and he did have an answer to offer Eames. He still wasn't sure it was the correct answer, didn't think it was the whole answer, but it was the truth. Or, at least, part of the truth.

"Because I felt like it." He licked his lips, tasting rich chocolate and creamy melted marshmallows. Eames was watching him silently, and Dom wanted to connect, wanted them to understand one another.

"Do you know how long it's been since I was last able to do something simply because I felt like it?" he asked. He wasn't fishing for sympathy. It was just a fact. First he had become a father. Then he'd had to deal with Mal's descent into madness and her suicide. Then he had spent two years on the run. And now that he was back... well, he loved his children and he regretted nothing about his current life or the way he was living it, but everything that he did was geared toward Phillipa and James. As it should be, but was it very surprising that he wanted something for himself?

"I hope you're not angry with me," he added, when Eames stared back at him, his dark eyes unreadable, his expression carefully blank. He'd gotten used to being able to know what Eames was thinking just by looking at him, and he didn't like seeing this mask back in place. But he had nothing to offer right now other than words. So he was going to have to choose his words carefully.

"Not angry, no," Eames answered slowly, then he took a sip of his hot chocolate. The cocoa lingered along the lush line of his upper lip before he licked it away, and Dom's fingers tightened around his own mug as he deliberately raised his gaze to Eames' eyes. Maybe a little too late, because Eames couldn't have helped noticing, but true to what he had said, he didn't appear to be angry. "I'm just confused, Dom."

"Sorry," Dom said, because he was. "I can see how this might be seeming to come out of nowhere."

"A little bit," Eames inserted dryly, and Dom smiled, but Eames still didn't.

Dom shrugged helpless. "I wanted to and so I did it," he explained. "That's really all there is to it. As for why I wanted to...."

Eames' brows rose and now Dom could read the curiosity in his gaze.

Dom ran a hand through his damp hair, tugging it back before loosing it to let strands tumble in his face. He and Eames were both due for a trim, he thought, but set that aside for the moment, because he had much more important things to focus on right now.

"Well, what can I say?" he asked, a little more lightly than he actually felt. "You don't want to hear it, right? But I can't deny the reason I feel the way I do."

Eames actually blanched, Dom could see him wince, and he felt bad for engendering these negative responses.

"I'm not asking for reciprocity," he hastened, reaching forward and grabbing Eames' free hand in his own, still warm from the mug of hot chocolate. "Don't feel pressured, okay, Eames?"

Eames bit at his lower lip sharply, but he didn't pull his hand away from Dom, and his fingers curled slowly, holding Dom's hand in return. "I...."

"Let me be honest," Dom continued, as though he hadn't already been being painfully honest. "I'd like to be able to hold you, to hug you, to kiss you... without causing you to freak out. I'm not trying to _take_ anything from you. I'm trying to _give_ you something. And I certainly don't expect you to do anything in return."

Eames was blinking at him, and Dom could see his quick mind working away behind those hooded eyes. "Is that really all there is to it?" he finally asked, in his breathy little rumble.

Dom nodded earnestly. "For now, yes, Eames." He shifted, leaning forward, holding both Eames' gaze and his hand. "Look, I know you're in an awkward, uncomfortable position here. I want you to feel at home, to know that this _is_ your home. I want you to be able to feel that you're in control of everything that affects you. And if at _any_ point I do something that makes you uncomfortable, let me know. No hesitation. Never stay quiet out of... of obligation, or because you don't want to make waves. Promise me."

Eames gave him a wry grin, and it was magnificent to see him actually smile. "Dom, you know me," he murmured, "I've never had a problem speaking my mind."

Dom grinned back, feeling a swelling of tentative relief in his chest. So far Eames hadn't rejected him out of hand. But he wasn't going to let the subject go until he was sure that they understood one another.

"But," he added, almost sheepishly, "At the same time, I'm hoping to someday win you over." He gave Eames his best entreating look. "Please give me permission to at least try?"

He couldn't tell if Eames looked charmed or skeptical, but after a long, agonizing moment, he licked his lips again and nodded. "All right," he said, and Dom was glad to hear the certainty in his voice. "It's not as though much is changing, right?" Eames gave him a glance that said that he didn't believe his own words, but that he was trying. "I mean, you already hold me all night while I sleep."

Dom smirked at this, and the rush of heat and pleasure that he felt was definitely out of place, but he couldn't help himself. "We're both going to be figuring this out together, Eames," he had to add. "Because it might surprise you to hear this, but I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing either."

Eames actually chuckled at this, a small but sweet huff of breath, and Dom couldn't help moving forward just a bit more to give him a peck on the lips. It was really pushing it, when they had barely made it through this conversation and come to a tentative agreement, but Dom couldn't help himself.

And this time Eames only looked thoughtful and a little troubled, rather than shaken to the center of his being.

"We should go to bed," Dom said, and Eames bit his lower lip and nodded. So even though their mugs were still half full, they made their way to the bedroom and set about their nightly routine.

Everything had changed, but like Eames had said, not much had changed at all. That was just the way of things. And Dom was okay with that.

They would figure this out eventually, and when they did, they would figure it out together.

***

Life went on pretty much the same as it ever had done, and Eames felt that he should have been either less or more surprised by this fact than he was.

Honestly, it seemed sort of inescapable. What could any of them do differently? Eames couldn't walk out of the house, nor did he want to. He also didn't feel as though he could return Dom's affections. Not when he wasn't convinced that Dom actually felt what he thought he felt.

On the other hand, he didn't expect Dom to change his mind just because Eames had rebuffed him. And, hell, Eames hadn't really. He'd never told Dom he couldn't touch him, hold him, kiss him.... Perhaps he should have called a moratorium on that last, but Dom had looked so hopeful, so puppy-like, he hadn't had the heart.

It really was ridiculous. But so was the fact that Eames felt comfortable here. Felt safe. Felt as though he _belonged_. Dom had said he wanted Eames to feel that this was his home, but the secret was that he already did. There was, of course, a small part of him that still felt like an intruder and probably always would. But it _was_ a small part, which was growing ever smaller. When Dom held Eames in his arms every night, when the kids treated him like he was more than a friend, more than an uncle, almost like another father -- almost -- how could he say that he didn't belong here?

His own feelings for Dom, though, were far more complex than his affection for the children. So much so that he had no idea what these feelings were. He was pretty sure that he wasn't in love with Dom, though. And he didn't have any clue how Dom could think that he loved Eames.

On the other hand, it had only come to Eames slowly that he was in love with Arthur, hadn't it? So who was to say what might happen in the future. Who was to say that Dom wasn't right in assigning the emotion of love to his feelings for Eames.

Eames didn't really want to think about that. But it felt good when Dom's arms were wrapped warm around him at night. And he didn't mind when he felt Dom's lips press to his temple, his jaw, or even his lips. It felt good to know that there was someone who cared, even if it wasn't the one person he'd fallen in love with himself.

Honestly, aside from the fact that Dom was more free about touching Eames, especially his face, and occasionally kissing him, everywhere including the lips, not much had changed. Eames had already been aware that Dom spent a lot of time pulling him close, easing Eames' head onto his shoulder or thigh, resting a hand over his chest to feel his heart beating. He'd always taken it in stride, not really having the energy to do otherwise.

And by the time he might have had the strength and desire to protest... he hadn't really felt the desire. And so it wasn't that large a change after all.

Phillipa and James didn't seem to notice anything had changed. They were getting better about sleeping through the night in their own beds; Eames didn't blame them when they had two years' worth of abandonment issues to work through. And it was pretty obvious that they expected Eames to always be there. It had gone so far beyond "Uncle" Eames being a houseguest that he didn't know if he could in good conscience leave, even once he had recovered.

And Lord knew when he was going to be recovered to the point that he could leave, even if he had been inclined to do so. He still couldn't shave himself or bathe without having to sit down on the bath bench halfway through his shower. So the kids had nothing to worry about right now.

This situation should have led to Eames feeling trapped, he knew. And Dom's mild advances should have had Eames actively rebuffing him each and every time.

But instead.... Instead....

Well. Eames hadn't had a home, a _real_ home, in a very long time. But the Cobb household had welcomed him, enfolded him, and he didn't mind. In fact, he thought that he'd have felt lost without it.

It almost felt like taking the easy way out. But all things considered, Eames thought that allowing himself to have this was the opposite of what was easy. He'd never been the sort to commit before, even though his falling in love with Arthur might have argued differently.

That was over with now. And Eames was surprised to realize that days had gone by and he hadn't thought of Arthur once.

This was new and a rather frightening, but also a very welcome realization.

And now he thought that he understood what Dom had meant. The pain didn't go away. But it had lessened. And Eames had found other things, other people, to fill the empty place in his heart.

He still thought that it had to have been worse for Dom than for himself. But then, he could only live his own life, and so his own pain was central to him. This was merely a part of being. And the fact of Mal being dead might be evenly balanced by the fact that Arthur was still alive but had seemed to go out of his way to hurt Eames' feelings.

Or perhaps it had only _seemed_ that way to Eames, he thought tiredly. Perhaps that had not been Arthur's intent. He had been blunt, harsh, and almost violent in his rejection of Eames' avowed love. But how much of that had been reasoned? He had been taken by surprise, that much had been obvious. And so his response had been honest, not deliberate. It was possible that cruelty had been in Eames' head.

That didn't lessen his pain. But it did serve to drain him of resentment.

Days passed by. Eames felt better, physically. Then worse again. Then better. His recovery was a slow but steady progress. Dom never pushed for more than he had, never asked Eames to feel what he... what he _said_ he felt. James and Phillipa were delightful daily, and already bigger and smarter than they had been when Eames had taken the bullets for them. It had only been half a year, when he totted it up, but it seemed a lifetime.

Eames found he was happy, in a quiet, simple sort of way. Nothing like he had been before, and nothing like he had expected. Nothing like he would have thought he'd enjoy. And yet it was something that he didn't think he could give up, even if he'd been asked to.

Not that Dom was ever going to ask him to give this up. In fact, quite the opposite. It was comforting and terrifying in equal parts.

The day that Eames realized he probably could have shaved himself but he didn't, he let Dom continue to do it for him, that should have been a revelation. And yet it wasn't. Once again, it was something that crept over him. Something unexpected that somehow felt completely natural.

Saito stopped by to visit, which surprised Eames. He wanted to meet Cobb's children, he apologized for the snafu with Cobol, and he graciously allowed Eames to thank him for the financial support, but only once. Then he was gone, but it had felt... good... fitting, somehow, to be able to speak to him. To know that there was someone else to whom Eames' continued existence was of at least mild importance.

Then Dom's former father-in-law, Stephen Miles, came to stay for a while, visiting his grandchildren, talking to Dom, getting to know Eames. Eames was aware of the professor's contributions to the dream-share, but he had never met him personally before. He found that he truly enjoyed spending time with him, could see where Mal had gotten her charm and intelligence. Even though it was a little disconcerting that a man of Miles' age was more hale and hearty than Eames was right now, thanks to his injuries.

Things were getting on so well that Eames forgot that if Miles was here, this meant little Ariadne would be freed of her university shackles as well, and that others might very well want to come visiting the Cobb family. Actually, it wasn't so much that he forgot. It was more that the idea didn't even occur to him.

Not until the day that Arthur and Ariadne waltzed in through the door, and there went Eames' new contentment, blown all to ruddy hell.


	4. Chapter 4

Ariadne was nothing if not a pragmatist and yet she had not been able to shake the feeling for quite a while of something being wrong.

Then again, it didn't take psychic abilities or other intangibles to be able to read between the lines. When Arthur had shown up in Paris to work with her in the dream-share -- doing jobs that were more often legal than not -- there had been something off about him. It had been faint enough that she'd almost thought that she'd imagined it.... At least until the first time she had mentioned Eames.

That was the point at which Arthur had frozen her out, and she'd known that whatever had changed in his demeanor it had involved Eames. She also knew better than to ask any more questions.

Her new bad feeling, though, was stronger, and she couldn't rationalize it away. It was an overwhelming sense of impending disaster, dogging her ever since she and Arthur had set foot in the States, and it didn't go away, only got worse.

They were here to meet up with some people in the dream-share who were doing some new and innovative studies, nothing illegal, nothing dangerous. The whole thing went smoothly, both parties went away happy, and that was when Arthur opened his mouth, and said, "Since we're here on the West Coast anyway, we should stop by and see Cobb."

There was no sudden realization, no flutter of nerves. All Ariadne felt was a small surge of pleasure, and she smiled as she said, "Good idea," already thinking about how nice it was going to be to see Phillipa and James again. And to watch Cobb playing "Daddy", something that was both amusing and amazing in equal parts. She'd greatly enjoyed her last visit, and was already looking forward to this one.

She would have expected that Arthur would have contacted Cobb. That was the sort of thing that Arthur just _did_. Which was why she didn't bother with it herself, and it was why she was so surprised when they were standing on Cobb's doorstep and Arthur said, while ringing the bell, "I hope he's in."

Ariadne was just opening her mouth to say something along the lines of, _Doesn't he know we're coming?_ when the door opened and she felt that strange shifting in her head that she always felt when two parts of her life that should be completely separate came together in strange ways she didn't expect.

Of course, she _knew_ that Professor Miles had been Cobb's father-in-law. If she hadn't been aware of that fact, she'd never have agreed to go to an old empty warehouse alone with Cobb and his "associate", Arthur. But knowing that and seeing the face that until just recently she'd been viewing from her seat in his classroom, peering at her mildly from Cobb's front door... well, her brain had to do an extra little shimmy to process that.

"Hello, Miles," Arthur said smoothly, before she could get her tongue working. Because of course Arthur knew him as well. "Is Cobb home?"

"Not at the moment," Professor Miles replied, and he was smiling benevolently at them both. Ariadne smiled back without pause; she _liked_ Professor Miles. And, besides, he was one of the men who had helped to create the PASIV technology, and then he had introduced her to Cobb. Without his genius and that introduction, she would never have entered the wonder of the dream-share.

"But come on in," he was continuing, standing back and ushering them inside. She always forgot how tall he was. When she was looking down at him from the tiered desks in his classroom, he never seemed this imposing. And that was when she realized that even though he looked cheerful and friendly, and even though she trusted Professor Miles implicitly, there was something shuttered in his gaze. And, bam, just like that her bad feeling was back, stronger than ever.

Since it was warm out neither she nor Arthur had on jackets, and Professor Miles led them without pause into the living room.

"Uncle Arthur!" both Phillipa and James squealed, throwing themselves at the man. Ariadne grinned as Arthur fielded the kids' enthusiastic welcome, but her expression died as she turned her gaze further into the room and took in the fourth adult, slouching on the sofa.

For a long moment, she didn't recognize him. The last time she had seen him had been during the Fischer job, and the man she was looking at now was... completely different.

"Eames?" she gasped, knowing her voice had come out in a slightly humiliating squeak, knowing her eyes were huge, but she was too stunned by the change to disguise her immediate response.

Eames was almost unrecognizable. She knew those grey eyes, and she would recognize that mouth anywhere, but everything else.... _God!_

He was slim, probably close to the same weight as Arthur now, maybe even lighter. His face was gaunt, the bones standing out sharp in his cheekbones and jaw under soft, clean-shaven skin, which was another change. His hair was loose and messy, not pomaded, and needed a trim. He was wearing a dark plaid flannel button-up despite the warmth and a pair of black cotton pajama bottoms even though it was the middle of the afternoon.

Most of the change was in his eyes, though, in his expression. Ariadne was used to seeing Eames look alert and clear. Even at the most stressful period during the Fischer job, even when they're been working for days with little sleep outside the dream-share, Eames had always been bright-eyed and had seemed mildly amused, perfectly at ease. Now, though.... Now his eyes were dark and shadowed, ringed in bruised-looking skin. His face was drawn, no more of the fading tan he'd been sporting in Paris, he was almost as pale as Ariadne herself, and he'd gone white the moment he had seen them. When he had seen _Arthur_.

And now that he'd set eyes on Arthur, his lush lips had pressed in a thin line, removing the last thing about him that was familiar to Ariadne, bringing the feeling of something being wrong to a screaming crescendo, knotting her stomach. And if she hadn't already recognized him, Ariadne didn't think she'd have known who it was she was goggling at.

"Ariadne, hi," Phillipa was saying shyly, taking Ariadne's suddenly cold hand in hers, calling her attention from the shocking sight before her. Ariadne had instructed that she not be called "Aunt" anything last time she'd visited, and Phillipa had always been a little hesitant about calling her by her given name. But she was smiling up at Ariadne and looked genuinely happy to see her.

"Hey, kiddo," Ariadne greeted, hoping she didn't sound as choked as she felt, and she sank to one knee in order to give Phillipa a proper hug. James was riding high in Arthur's arms, but Ariadne didn't think she'd have rated a hug from him anyway; she'd bonded more with Phillipa during her previous visit, James remaining shy during most of it. Heck, he might not even remember her, seeing as it had been a while.

"Eames," Arthur said flatly, and Ariadne couldn't tell if he was as stunned by the man's appearance as she had been, not when there was zero inflection in his voice.

Eames remained silent, reaching up to rub at his upper lip, curling his left hand over his chin, his eyes round but still dark. His gaze was flickering back and forth between Arthur and Ariadne, but she didn't think she was imagining he was looking more at Arthur than at her.

"Don't get up on our account," Arthur continued dryly when it became clear that Eames wasn't going to respond, physically or verbally.

"He can't," Phillipa replied simply for Eames, pulling away from Ariadne and trotting over to the man in question. "Not without Daddy or Grandpa to help him up."

Eames' gaze skittered away, toward the big picture window that afforded them a view of the beautiful property the house was situated on. Ariadne glanced at Professor Miles, who looked old and sad for a moment before his features firmed.

"He took rather a bad tumble yesterday, and it's been a bit of a setback," he murmured softly, giving Ariadne a rueful look, since Arthur was staring fixedly at Eames and wasn't meeting his eyes.

"But what _happened_?" Ariadne found herself blurting before she thought not to.

Professor Miles looked startled, and he shot a sharp look at Eames, who kept his face turned away, even though he'd slung his left arm around Phillipa, where she was leaning into him.

"Perhaps we should go and talk in the kitchen," Professor Miles said quietly, and Ariadne heartily agreed, even though she sympathized with the hard-jawed glare that Eames shot him, his expression almost hurt. She would feel bad talking behind Eames' back, but she really wanted -- no, she _needed_ to know!

"Daddy said we have to be careful with Uncle Eames because he gets tired easy and it hurts him to move," James chimed in helpfully.

Professor Miles shooed them as though they were all his students as he moved toward where Eames was slumped on the sofa. "Go on, then," he said. "Phillipa, love, go and show Ariadne where the juice is while Uncle Arthur makes some coffee. We'll be right with you."

So he didn't intend to leave Eames out of it, Ariadne thought with mingled relief and discomfort. It might be easier to talk about Eames if he wasn't there. But knowing that they had left him stranded on the sofa, aware that he knew they were talking about him where he couldn't hear, couldn't interject, well, that would probably be even worse.

"Come on, Ariadne," Phillipa said, and there was her small hand in Ariadne's, tugging her toward the kitchen.

Since she was feeling more than a little numb Ariadne allowed herself to be led, Arthur right behind her, still carrying James.

At least she knew what that bad feeling had been. Now she just wanted to find out what had _happened_ to Eames and why he was _here_.

***

Eames really didn't want to go into the kitchen, but Miles wasn't giving him a choice. Besides, it would have been worse to stay in the living room all alone with everyone else in another room, talking about him....

Dammit, he'd been doing so well lately. Had been healing, had managed to stop thinking about Arthur all of the time. But then yesterday he'd slipped in the shower, worse than he'd ever done before, and the bench had actually made things worse when he had hit it on the way down. And today.... Well, today, here was a face he'd sort of been hoping never to have to see again.

But Arthur was here, and from the expression on his face it was clear that Dom hadn't informed him of what had happened with Cobol, or that Eames was living here now. Which Eames considered was a good thing. Or at least, it _had_ been, until Arthur had showed up on the doorstep.

Miles lowered Eames carefully into a chair when they entered the kitchen, and as always it rankled that he had to accept aid in something simple like _moving_ from someone so much older than himself. Phillipa immediately glued herself to his side, which she had hardly left since the day before, and Eames felt depressingly grateful for this.

Dom had only left the house when Miles had promised to watch over Eames as carefully as he would have done, and only in order to fill one of Eames' long neglected prescriptions for pain pills. Generally Eames refused to take them, not liking to have his head fogged like that. But after his fall yesterday they'd both realized that they needed to keep something a little stronger than Tylenol on hand, for emergencies.

And of _course_ Arthur had shown up when Eames felt at his weakest, his most vulnerable. Two days ago, he'd have been able to handle Arthur's presence here with aplomb; or at least without feeling as though he might pass out at the mere sight of him. Without the need to hide behind a six year old.

To be fair, Phillipa was picking up on his discomfort, and she was sticking by him in order to protect him. It made him feel even more weak and pathetic, but it was also comforting at the same time.

"What happened?" Ariadne asked, fingers tight around a can of soda she wasn't drinking. He wasn't even sure she had opened it; it was more like a prop she was clinging to in order to have something to hold. Her cheeks were even more pale than usual, and she couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from Eames. He realized belatedly that he hadn't said a word to her since she'd entered the house, and that was hardly good manners.

"Hallo, love," he managed, even though he was right back to not being able to speak much after having fallen on his right side the day before. Honestly, he felt he'd lost nearly half a year of progress, and it was downright disheartening, even though he knew he was going to recover quickly enough.

She blinked at him, let out a little sound, then lunged out of her chair and gave him a very careful, very gentle hug around the neck and shoulders. He could feel her breath coming quick and hard as she kissed his cheekbone, and then she was sitting down again, her eyes still huge and still fixed on him.

"It was Cobol," he rasped, because he didn't know how much of the actual story Miles knew. He suspected the whole thing, but this was his tale to tell. "They came after Dom and the kids. I couldn't let that happen."

He was resolutely avoiding Arthur's eyes, but he could hear the sharp intake of breath. Probably wondering why he hadn't known about this, when it had happened, why Dom hadn't told him.... Eames was wondering that last a bit, himself, but he was also grateful.

"Cobol Engineering?" Ariadne queried, her brow puckering in a confused frown. "I thought they went under."

Eames gave her a mirthless grin. There was a flare of righteous vengeance in his chest, almost drowning out the wrenching pain of being in the same room as Arthur, just for a moment. "They did. Saito destroyed them," he offered simply.

"Saito knew?" Arthur snapped, at the same time Ariadne asked, "But what happened to _you_ , Eames?"

Eames shrugged his good shoulder, and chose to answer Ariadne, since Arthur was just being rhetorical for effect. Obviously Saito had known, if Eames had said he did. "Just a few bullets to the chest," he said as easily as he could when it was hard to breathe. It wouldn't do to upset the children, after all.

This turned out to be a vain attempt, as he realized when Phillipa chipped in with her own contribution to the conversation.

"Daddy said that Uncle Eames died three times on the operating table."

And he hadn't thought Ariadne's eyes could get any rounder. His own heart thumped, but for a different reason.

"Pippa," he groaned, tightening the arm he had around the young girl, and turning his head to press a quick kiss to her temple. "You weren't supposed to know that."

"How can Uncle Eames come back from dying but Mommy is gone forever?" James, who was sitting in Arthur's lap, asked in his piping voice, his round face crinkling in confusion.

"Because there were doctors right there to bring Uncle Eames back," Phillipa replied, before any of the adults could think what to say. "But Mommy had already gone to heaven by the time the doctors reached her."

"Oh." James sounded enlightened and not overly upset by the direction the conversation had gone, though he and his sister were probably the only ones.

Ariadne sent Eames a horrified look, but Miles just looked tired and sad. Arthur... Eames didn't know how Arthur was reacting, because he was resolutely not looking at the other man. It might be the coward's way out, but he was sore and exhausted and felt completely unbalanced by Arthur and Ariadne's sudden appearance in his home. This was not how he had expected that his day would go at all.

"Uncle Eames got shot protecting me and James," Phillipa informed Ariadne seriously, since none of the adults seemed capable of speaking right now. "We'd be dead now if it wasn't for him."

Well, Eames couldn't really deny that fact, even though she made it sound a lot more self sacrificing than it had felt at the time. When it had been happening, it had just been instinct. Protect the children, right? What man wouldn't? No man who could _call_ himself a man.

But he didn't have the strength or breath to say all this, and it wasn't any of Arthur's-- anyone else's business, anyway.

No one seemed to know what to say to this, so perhaps it was fortuitous that this was the moment that the coffeemaker beeped to announce that it was done brewing. Ariadne jumped up, and together she and Miles got out the mugs, cream, and sugar.

If they'd been in England, Eames mused, they'd have been having tea. Then again, if they'd been in England Eames might not have been shot in the chest.

But... James and Pippa would probably be dead, as Pippa had so blithely stated. And where would be the good in that?

Still, Eames did miss his tea.

"So you've been staying here since then?" Ariadne asked, placing a steaming mug of milky coffee before Eames, which he had absolutely zero intention of touching. He appreciate the thought, though, and murmured his thanks as articulately as he could manage.

"Uncle Eames lives here now," Phillipa told Ariadne firmly, and whatever shyness she might have evinced when she had first greeted Ariadne seemed to be gone. She was the neat and darling little lady of the house, and she was very definitely her mother's daughter. Eames loved her more than a little, but he rather wished she hadn't said what she had just said, so very bluntly.

Ariadne looked as much speculative as surprised, Eames was still trying to avoid meeting Arthur's eye, and that was the point at which Dom arrived home.

"What are you guys doing in here?" he was asking as he strode into the kitchen. Eames couldn't see him without turning, and he couldn't turn with Phillipa pressed up against his good side, but he could hear the startlement and delight in Dom's voice as he realized, "Ariadne!"

She jumped up and while Eames still couldn't see, he was pretty sure she had flung herself into Dom's arms.

And, was that.... Did he feel _jealous_? That was.... Just, no.

What?

"Did you get Uncle Eames' pills, Daddy?" Phillipa, bless her heart, stayed on target. Not that Eames wanted to take them. But he knew it distressed her to see him in pain, and so he didn't begrudge her question, and he probably would end up taking one or two, against his better judgment.

"Right here," Dom replied, coming up beside Eames, brandishing the pharmacy bag, then placing his other hand on Eames' shoulder and bending to kiss the crown of his head as had become the norm. Miles no longer batted an eye, though Eames sometimes cringed to know that the older man must be looking at him and thinking, _this is what Dom is trying to replace my daughter with?_ Eames really didn't want to know how Arthur or Ariadne might be taking it. It wasn't any of their business, anyway, either of them.

"Hey, Arthur," Dom greeted, and Eames didn't think he was imagining that there was a bit of stiffness, of restraint in his tone, even though he crossed to clasp Arthur's hand.

Eames sort of hated that more than anything else so far today. As bad as it was seeing Arthur again, as bad as it was knowing that Arthur was seeing him in his weakness, knowing that there was a wedge between Dom and Arthur -- who had been good friends before if not close ones -- simply due to the fact that Arthur and Eames had once been lovers.... Well, that made Eames' stomach twist and made him feel lower than low, when he had already felt pretty damned low, dammit.

"You look like you're doing well," Arthur said, and Eames was pretty sure it was actual conversation, nothing guarded or hidden in his tone. He sounded as though he honestly meant it, and he probably did.

So perhaps the wedge was all in Eames' mind. Or in Dom's. Or maybe Arthur was just a better actor than Eames gave him credit for being. Once Eames had been better about reading people. Of course, once he'd been able to bathe himself without falling over and becoming completely helpless.

"Dad," Phillipa reminded.

"Yes, sweetheart," Dom said absently, retrieving the familiar, hated amber bottle from the bag, and opening it with a deft twist of his wrist.

Eames was already grimacing as he held out his left hand for the small pill. But he downed it obediently enough with a swig of lukewarm coffee, knowing that Pippa had a sharp eye on him the whole time.

"Are you guys staying here a while?" Dom asked, and he was practically hovering over Eames. Eames might have been more upset by this, but he knew that soon the pill would make him drowsy, so it was just as well that Dom was staying close at hand. Pippa was a dear, but as he'd proved in the past when he had almost squashed her, she wasn't big enough to catch him if he fell.

"We were hoping to," Ariadne replied, and she shot Arthur something remarkably like a dirty look. Eames wondered why. "As long as that's okay?"

"Oh, absolutely," Dom enthused, and he wasn't faking it now, Eames was relieved to note. "We'd love to have you."

And maybe that was stretching the truth more than a bit, but Eames was glad that Dom could speak the words and mean them. And he was quite pleased by the joy that lighted Ariadne's eyes.

This may not yet be a complete disaster.

***

This was going to be a complete disaster, Dom thought, even as he suggested they all return to the living room. It wasn't time for dinner yet, and now that everyone had gotten their drinks and there was coffee for refills, he wanted Eames on the sofa. Soon enough the man would be nodding off, and doing so in a kitchen chair would not only be uncomfortable, it would be potentially dangerous.

Resting his head against Dom's shoulder, where it _belonged_ , was much better. Not that this was how they started out. As usual, they were seated side by side on the sofa, and Eames just sort of... slid. Dom knew that he was more than half asleep, because if he hadn't been, he'd never have let down his guard like this.

It was a pain pills, of course. Dom was certain that otherwise having Arthur here would be causing Eames to be more alert, more aware of what was going on around him. Less likely to lean on Dom....

He couldn't help but be a little grateful for the pills, even if he wasn't glad that Eames was in pain so much that he needed them.

"Dom, why didn't you tell me?" Ariadne asked, almost whispering, her eyes fixed on Eames where he was dozing against Dom's shoulder.

Dom noted that she hadn't said "us", but he wasn't sure what to make of it. Arthur's face was as blank as Dom had ever seen it, so he didn't have a clue what he was making of this whole thing.

He also didn't know how Eames was going to deal with being face to face with Arthur again. In fact, he wasn't even certain what _he_ was going to do, how he felt. He was glad to have Ariadne here. He'd have been happy to see Arthur if not for the fact that he and Eames had once been together....

Jealousy wasn't very becoming, Dom knew. But he couldn't help feeling fiercely possessive and extremely protective. He wanted to keep Eames safe, even though he had the sinking feeling that there was no way he could do so. None at all.

"We haven't talked or written since it happened," he defended weakly, giving her what used to be a charming smile. He had the feeling he was woefully out of practice, and there definitely wasn't any thawing of her hard expression.

"You could have called," she said, frowning at him. "You could have written."

"I've been a little busy," he said, frowning back, but not very deeply. It was true, though. Between raising his children, watching over Eames and monitoring his recovery, not to mention working occasionally to keep them all fed, he'd barely had time to breathe.

"Sorry," he offered, and he meant it. Because even though he had been busy, she was right and he should have let her know. Even though doing so would have alerted Arthur, she was something separate from the point man and she had deserved to be informed about something this major.

From the twist of Ariadne's full lips and the considering gleam in her eyes he could tell she was thinking about forgiving him. He hoped she did; his apology had been honestly meant.

"You should have let me know about Cobol," Arthur spoke up, his voice low and intense, his eyes dark where he was watching Eames sleep against Dom's shoulder and upper chest. And by this point, Dom thought it was pretty obvious that Eames was sound asleep, so they could speak at normal volumes instead of whispering.

"By the time I knew Cobol was coming after me Eames was here and we were running," Dom explained, trying to keep his tone even. "And once the dust settled, Saito ruined them all. There was no need for anyone else to help."

That was a little harsh, he thought, even as the words left his mouth, but it was true, nonetheless.

"Is he okay?" Ariadne asked, and she looked worried. She and Eames hadn't interacted a lot during the Fischer job, but they had all spent quite a bit of time in one another's heads, and Dom knew that Eames had had something of a soft spot for their fledgling architect, even though he had done his best to disguise it. Obviously she meant her question, and truly cared about the answer.

"Getting there," Dom replied, and it was only when he saw Arthur's eyes narrow that he realized he was running his fingers through Eames' soft hair, with the hand of the arm he had around him. This sudden scrutiny in no way influenced him to stop. "He was doing a lot better before yesterday, but he fell and now he's feeling worse again. He hasn't touched a pain pill in months, so you know it's bad now."

Ariadne nodded, her face softening, but if anything, Arthur looked grimmer. Dom really hoped that this wasn't because of lingering feelings he had for Eames... but he knew that it probably was.

He really should have seen this coming, he supposed. Having Arthur here wasn't a problem for _him_. But Eames having to see and deal with Arthur, knowing that the two of them had been... whatever they had been to one another. Lovers? He didn't like to think about it, but he was ninety-nine percent certain that it was true.

Well, Arthur couldn't have Eames back. He belonged with the Cobb family now. He belonged to Dom now!

No.... No, not that. But Dom had more of a claim on Eames' affections now than Arthur did.

Right?

"I hope take-in is all right for dinner," he said, striving to change to subject, to lighten the mood. He had food in the house, but he'd only been planning on feeding three adults and two children, not seven people total. Besides, he didn't want to leave Eames' side for as long as it would take to cook something. He didn't want to leave Eames' side... at all.

"I'll pay for it," Arthur offered, and his gaze moved from Eames to Dom. Dom could see him _force_ himself to relax. "Since we showed up with no notice."

"Which was not my idea, by the way," Ariadne spoke up, shooting Arthur a meaningful scowl. Arthur had the good graces to look sheepish, and offered Dom a small smile.

Dom grinned and nodded, and just like that things were okay. It wouldn't last. They wouldn't remain okay.

But for a moment, it felt almost like old times.

***

Eames slept through dinner, and Arthur didn't know whether to be relieved by this or not. It wasn't as though they had spoken so much as one word to one another since Arthur had walked into Cobb's house and found Eames evidently _living_ here.

Well, Arthur had asked Eames at least one question, but Eames had chosen not to answer. It had been a useless, throw-away question, but Arthur still felt that the snub had been deliberate.

Not that he could blame Eames. But... well, this situation wasn't Arthur's _fault_. Not _any_ of it!

"He wouldn't eat much anyway," Cobb said, his brow heavy and his mouth twisting as he glanced at Eames, where he had slipped down so far that his head was resting in Cobb's _lap_. Arthur read the easy affection and muted worry there, and he felt something in his chest twist, even though he wasn't quite sure what exactly it was.

"He tries, Daddy," Phillipa protested, because she had evidently set herself up as Eames' fierce little defender. But seeing as Eames had saved her life, this was only to be expected. If Arthur was reading the situation correctly, Cobb's children had _seen_ Eames get shot. In Phillipa's case, as the eldest and as a brilliant little girl, the resulting trauma might very well manifest itself in a powerful protective streak.

It certainly explained Dom's protectiveness. Though it didn't explain why he was so... _handsy_ with Eames.

But was that any of Arthur's business? Not really. He resolutely reminded himself of this as they finished eating, had dessert, then sat talking until the children's bedtime.

Miles offered to see the tots off, and neither James nor Phillipa protested, both behaving like little angels for their grandfather. Although, Phillipa did extract the promise from both Ariadne and Arthur that they would be there in the morning. They promised, and there they were, locked in. Not that Arthur had been planning on running. This might be an awkward situation, but he wasn't a coward. And Eames deserved better than that, he really did.

Cobb was yawning and sleepy eyed, and he smiled apologetically at Ariadne and Arthur, one hand still absently carding through Eames' messy hair. "Sorry. Eames and I usually go to bed pretty soon after the kids," he said, sliding carefully from under Eames, gently placing a throw pillow under his head, and beginning to collect the empty plates and utensils. Arthur and Ariadne jumped to help him. "It's easier to keep to their schedule, and Eames is always so tired by the end of the day."

Ariadne nodded, looking pensive and distressed in equal measures. "I'm glad you guys are taking care of him," she said, her gaze fixed on Eames where he lay, sound asleep on the sofa. Arthur wondered absently how Cobb was planning to get him to bed.

"What else would we do?" Cobb asked, and it sounded so reasonable when he put it like that.

Ariadne smiled at him, then preceded the two men into the kitchen. Cobb hung back a moment, and Arthur arched a brow at him.

"You can have the green room, and Ariadne can have the peach room," Cobb offered, naming off two of the guest rooms, his blue eyes wide and guileless. "Unless you and Ariadne will be sharing...?" he then added, about as delicately as an anvil to the head.

"No," Arthur replied, squashing _that_ suggestion immediately, before Cobb could get the wrong idea. Although, apparently he'd already had the wrong idea. But Arthur had something else on his mind, something more important. "Where's Miles staying?" Because as far as he knew, the Cobb house only had three guestrooms.

"In the yellow room," Cobb answered, frowning faintly, looking confused by the question.

"Well, then, where's Eames--" Arthur cut himself off before he could finish that question, because he wasn't sure he wanted the answer, even though he was ninety-nine percent certain he already knew.

"Where do you think?" Cobb asked, giving Arthur a look as though he thought he was stupid. Arthur wasn't used to getting that look from Cobb. He found he didn't care for it. Nor less the man's tone of voice.

Arthur could feel his lips firming, and since he had _no_ right to feel outraged, should have seen that coming, he turned and followed Ariadne into the kitchen.

He'd known the moment he'd seen Eames that this visit was going to be a bad idea. But now he was coming to wonder if it might not be a complete disaster in the making.


	5. Chapter 5

Ariadne didn't suppose she should have been surprised that when they were done putting the dishes to soak, Cobb went back out into the living room and simply picked Eames up, ready to carry him off to bed.

It looked like something he had done before, the way he made sure Eames' head fell gently onto his shoulder, how careful he was not to jar Eames' bad side. Which was obviously his right side, considering how often he had used his left hand to do things when Ariadne _knew_ that he was right handed.

"Arthur, can you show Ariadne to her room?" Cobb requested, pausing a moment and holding Eames against his chest effortlessly. But then, Cobb was a tall, strong man. And Eames had lost a _lot_ of weight, Ariadne thought with an internal wince.

"Of course," Arthur said stiffly, and Ariadne wondered what the reason for this tone was. Maybe he didn't like seeing Eames so weak and vulnerable, the same as her... but for some reason she felt that there was more to it than that. "We have to get our luggage, though."

Cobb nodded. "Just be sure you lock up behind yourselves. You remember how to arm the security system?" Arthur nodded, and Cobb continued. "We usually get up between seven and eight, but you can both sleep in if you want. You're our guests and you're here to relax, so get up whenever you'd like."

Ariadne pulled a face. "Why would you get up that early when you don't have to?" she wanted to know.

Cobb chuckled, and at this noise Eames shifted, turning his face into his neck, his left hand coming up to clutch clumsily at Cobb's shirt. He didn't seem to actually wake, however. "Someday, when you have children -- far in the future I'm certain -- you'll understand."

Ariadne pulled an even longer face, for a different reason this time. "Uh-huh," she snorted. Then she recalled her manners. "Good-night, Cobb. And thank you for letting us stay here."

"You can call me Dom, you know," he said, smiling with genuine amusement and affection. Then he bid them both good-night and carried Eames off into the house after his kids and Miles. He'd asked her to call him by his first name more than once during her first visit, but she always fell back on habit, and called him what she had heard everyone call him during the Fischer job, what _she_ had called him during the Fischer job.

Eames had called him Dom, she'd noted, during the brief period between when they had arrived and when the pain pills had zonked Eames out. On the one hand, if Eames was living here, it only made sense. But on the other hand, there was something sweet and intimate about it, something that niggled at her, made her think strange and curious things. Especially with the way that Cobb had so tenderly carried Eames off to bed.

Ariadne was silent while she and Arthur fetched their luggage, and he didn't say anything either. She figured that they were both lost in thought, though she did wonder if he was thinking anything like the same things she was thinking.

Namely, about Dom and Eames, and just what they might mean to one another. It hadn't been like that before, despite the fact that the two of them had worked alone together quite a bit during the Fischer job. Things were obviously different now, and she was trying to figure out exactly _how_. Besides the fact that Cobb had his kids back and Eames had been shot in the chest, of course. But then, maybe that was where most of the change had come from.

Still, that only explained the changes _in_ them, not the way things seemed to have changed _between_ them.

"He should have called me," Arthur muttered to himself as he led her down the hall toward the guest rooms, each with their bags in hand.

"Cobb?" she asked.

Arthur shot her a startled look, almost as though he hadn't expected that she would hear him or respond. "No, Eames," he replied, then bit his lip, perhaps to restrain himself from saying anything further.

Ariadne hummed. "Doesn't sound like there was time," she offered, even though she had to admit that getting only part of the story was making her nuts. She'd gotten the important points, of course. Like the Cobbs being in danger, Eames rushing to the rescue, and then Eames being shot in the chest to save the kids. Those were kind of major things. But all the little details, those were woefully missing.

Well, she could see where Eames wouldn't want to elaborate. Especially if it was hard for him to talk right now. Still, Ariadne was nothing if not curious and thorough, and so she was going to have to see if she could corner Cobb alone, get the whole story from him.

"Cobb said you were in the peach room," Arthur informed her, turning and frowning. He wasn't frowning at her though. If anything, _she_ should be frowning at _him_ for being the reason they were gate crashing the Cobb house. Well, technically speaking, she could have called, herself. But she honestly had thought that Arthur would have done it, and she didn't think that was a baseless assumption to have made, considering how organized he usually was.

"I know which one that is," she said, suddenly ready for a little privacy. For some time alone in her pajamas, time to try and process everything that had happened today, everything she had seen. "It's the same one I stayed in last time I was here."

"I'm in the green room if you need me," Arthur informed her in a clipped tone that held nothing of suggestion. Not that she thought of him that way. He was a sweet guy and he'd rather charmingly stolen a quick kiss from her during the Fischer job, but neither of them was interested in the other romantically or sexually, and they both knew it. "Don't mistake the yellow room, Miles is in there."

The thought of accidentally seeing her professor in his pajamas had Ariadne torn between giggling and cringing in horror.

Actually, the fact was that she felt almost the same way about Arthur, even though they _had_ shared a hotel room once or twice in the past. She hadn't really been working with anyone else since the Fischer job had been successfully concluded, and while Arthur might have been doing jobs when he'd vanished from time to time -- Ariadne had still been finishing off her schooling, after all, and wasn't always available -- they'd been spending a lot of time together. So, technically, she _had_ seen Arthur in his pajamas, but she tried not to dwell on that fact.

"Good-night," she said, but she didn't think Arthur was paying her any attention as he vanished into the green room. She liked the way that each guest room had its own color theme, and had decided last time she'd visited that if she ever owned a house this large, she'd do the same thing.

She still wasn't sure what she was going to do with the rest of her life. She intended to travel once she had graduated, and was sitting on her share of Saito's money in anticipation of that. But settling down, having kids like Cobb had suggested... all of that was so nebulous and so far in the future that she wasn't thinking about that yet. She assumed that at some point she'd buy herself a house, but she might not. A flat in London or Paris might be the way to go. Between the money she'd gotten for her work on the Fischer job and what she was earning and would be earning from continuing to work in the dream-share.... Well, her horizons were fairly broad, and she didn't _need_ to make any big decisions yet.

So, at this point she didn't know if she'd ever have guest rooms. But if she did, they would be color-coded like Cobb's were.

It was only half past ten, and there was absolutely no way that Ariadne was going to be able to sleep. Once she'd gotten ready for bed she clambered under the covers and considered her cell phone. Arthur had given her Saito's number once, "for emergencies only". She didn't think that this really qualified, but he was evidently the only person other than Cobb and Eames who knew what had happened.

In the end she decided not to call, but mostly because she couldn't be sure that he had the information she wanted, and he wasn't the sort of man one bothered for trifles. Saito was the sort of man she definitely wanted to stay on the good side of. It was probably mid-afternoon in Japan, if her rough mental math was correct, but she had no guarantee that Saito was even _in_ Japan right now.

So instead she hauled out her laptop and got online. Thankfully, Cobb hadn't changed his wireless password since the last time she had visited. If she couldn't get the answers she wanted, she would try to distract herself.

It was the best she was going to get, at least until tomorrow.

***

"Mm." Eames stirred as Dom set him down on the bed, finally seeming to come out of the stupor his medication had sunk him into. Dom was convinced that it was more than partially due to emotional distress, because the prescription wasn't _that_ strong, not so powerful that it should have knocked Eames out like this. But that wasn't anything he was going to communicate to Eames. He'd either deny it or it would make him feel worse; possibly both.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, running his fingers through Eames' hair and wondering if he'd wake enough to brush his teeth and slide out of his shirt. It wouldn't be the first time if he didn't, but it had been a while.

That damned fall in the shower really had set things back, by _weeks_.

Eames leaned into Dom's touch and cracked his eyes open. "What'd I miss?" he mumbled, his full lips turning up at one corner in a way that made Dom want nothing more than to kiss him. Things were too edgy, though, with Arthur under the same roof right now.

"Just dinner," Dom said, smiling down at Eames. "Which means you're going to have to eat more breakfast to make up for it, by the way. Don't think I won't enforce that."

Eames may have rolled his eyes, but his lids had slid down so it was a little hard to tell. He breathed something that sounded a little like "cruel overlord" but Dom might have been imagining things.

Still uncertain as to whether Eames would be able to rouse enough to get ready for bed, Dom began to unbutton the plaid flannel he was wearing. Eames gave a little grunt and batted clumsily at Dom with his left hand, but there was no strength behind the movement, so Dom just continued with what he was doing.

There they were, the scars that were slow to fade, and the fresh bruises that he'd gotten the day before. Dom let out a heavy sigh, and it was only when Eames' eyes opened again and focused on him that he realized he was tracing his fingertips over the smooth skin of Eames' torso, his touch not so soft as to pass unnoticed, even though he was avoiding the bruises.

"Sorry," he said, even though he only half meant it.

Eames quirked another half smile at him, then struggled to rise. Dom helped him up to a sitting position on the edge of the mattress, then stripped the shirt carefully off the rest of the way. It was one of Dom's own shirts, he noticed, and it was too large for Eames. For some reason -- oh, hell, he knew exactly why -- this filled him with a flare of possessiveness and the heat of desire.

"Do you need another pill?" he asked, because it was that or he was going to kiss Eames again.

Eames shook his head. "Not until after I've brushed my teeth," he rumbled, and he was listing toward Dom, whether this was deliberate or not. "Help me into the bathroom?"

Dom did, grateful both for the chance to put his arms around Eames and that the other man was capable of making the trip on his own two feet, albeit leaning heavily against him. He was also grateful that Eames was willing to ask. Sometimes pride got in the way of what was prudent.

Once they were both done with their nightly ablutions and Dom had changed into his pajama bottoms, he fetched Eames' medication and a glass of water. They curled together under the bedcovers, Eames' chest and arms warm and bare against Dom's equally bare torso. Normally they both wore more to bed; a teeshirt in Dom's case and something button-up for Eames, since he couldn't raise his hands over his head. But tonight Dom felt the intense need for there to be less separating them -- especially when Arthur's presence in the house felt like something huge, albeit intangible coming between them -- and it was a warm enough night that he didn't fear Eames would get chilled.

They lay there a few moments, breathing together, sharing body heat, and Dom knew that Eames smelled of him; probably from wearing his shirt all day. Not to mention the fact that they slept in the same bed every night. He had to admit, if only privately, that he enjoyed this fact more than he should. Perhaps far more.

He didn't want to, but he knew he had to raise the subject that was foremost on his mind, that was probably foremost on Eames' mind. He wanted to leave it to the morning, wanted to leave it forever, but he wouldn't be able to sleep if he didn't bring it up now.

"You should talk to him," he said quietly, hoping that Eames wouldn't catch the reluctance in his voice.

Eames stiffened in the circle of Dom's arms, his breath coming hard and fast and hot against the stretch of his collarbone. "I don't want to."

Dom could certainly sympathize. He sank his fingers into Eames' hair, fingers spread over the hardness of his skull beneath his scalp. He knew all the reasons that he shouldn't touch like this, but he needed the immediacy of it, the visceral comfort. And he hoped he wasn't fooling himself that Eames needed it too.

"Well, I don't want you to either," he confessed shamelessly. "None of that changes the fact that you _should_."

Eames was silent for so long that Dom almost thought he wasn't going to respond. At least he wasn't drifting off to sleep before they finished this conversation, despite the pills he had taken. That wasn't necessarily a good thing, though, given how tense he was.

Finally, he spoke, never raising his head from Dom's shoulder. "I'm pretty sure Arthur has made his feelings known to me," he said, so softly that Dom could barely hear him.

"That doesn't mean you're through with one another," Dom pressed. Not because he wanted to, but because he felt this was something that Eames and Arthur really needed to discuss. He still didn't know what had happened between the two of them, not actually, but he could surmise. And he wanted Eames to have some closure. They weren't going to get any better time than now, while Arthur was here visiting.

"So...." Eames leaned a little away, just far enough that he could peer up at Dom through the darkness of the bedroom, not enough to pull free of his embrace, his eyes gleaming beneath heavy lids. "I wouldn't be talking to him so much for myself, but for you."

Dom grimaced, shifting uncomfortably. "I wouldn't put it that way." Because he really, really didn't want to put it that way. Not in his own mind, and he didn't want Eames thinking that.

"All right, I'll do it then."

"Really, Eames, you--" Dom broke off before he could get started when he realized what Eames had said. "Excuse me?"

"I said I'll talk to him. Because you asked me to."

Dom grimaced more deeply. Because; "That's not a good reason."

Eames leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Dom's mouth, making his heart jump with the light but plush press. "It's the best reason." Eames settled down more comfortably, with his head cushioned on Dom's shoulder. "And for what it's worth, I think that you're right."

Dom had more to say, but _now_ Eames was falling asleep, and the most important thing was that Dom had gotten him to agree with his advice.

Now, if only Dom could bring _himself_ to agree with his own advice.

***

Morning came as it often did; with Dom's shoulder under Eames' head instead of a pillow, Pippa pressed against Eames' hip, and James sprawled over his father's chest.

Eames wondered sleepily, if he ever came to return Dom's emotions, whether Dom had any intentions of sexual interactions once Eames had fully recovered, and whether they might then need to lock the kids out of the bedroom. That seemed a little cruel, but it might be necessary....

But it was just too strange to think about Dom and love and sex right now. Eames still wasn't sure what he himself thought of the whole thing, and he definitely wasn't convinced that Dom knew what he wanted.

Besides, by then the kids might be sleeping in their beds all night. Who knew how long it was going to take Eames to heal up. Longer than he'd like if he didn't stop falling in the shower, dammit.

In the mornings, half awake and drowsy, Eames felt open-minded, free, and something like entering into a relationship with Dom didn't seem as impossible and ridiculous as it did during the rest of the day. He had a faint awareness that reason would return to him, but right now, riding the line between sleeping and waking, it felt like it might be something he could have, something he could give Dom.

"Good morning, Uncle Eames," Pippa said sleepily, smiling and giving him a careful kiss on the cheek before she squirmed out of the bed and padded out of sight. Eames assumed she was either headed to the bathroom or her own bedroom, and he set about making the effort of waking fully himself. Once one of the kids was up, it was time to get moving.

Dom sighed and shifted, his arm tightening around Eames while he didn't move from under his son. Eames sort of thought he loved Dom in this moment, and it didn't feel wrong or "too soon", didn't feel like obligation or mere familiarity.

Before Eames could set about rousing Dom, a soft knock at the door had the man startling, which in turn dragged a sleepy, protesting noise from James.

"Cobb?" Ariadne peered in hesitantly, her eyes apologetic and her cheeks becoming faintly pink when she took in the tableau on the bed. Eames was abruptly glad that the kids had joined them and that James was still sleeping, or it would have looked even worse than it surely did. "I'm really, really sorry to disturb you...."

"What's up?" Dom mumbled. He'd been awake less than half a minute but was already mostly functional. Eames thought this was something of a defense mechanism Dom had developed due to being a single father. Or maybe it was just a leftover from working with Somnacin regularly, even though neither of them entered the dream-share any longer.

Ariadne bit her lip and slipped into the room. She was fully dressed and looked bright-eyed and ready for the day despite the early hour. Eames recalled that he and Dom were both without shirts, and he was glad that Dom was draped in his son's sleeping body. He was even more grateful that he'd automatically dragged the sheets up over himself once Pippa had left the bed, so that his scars were mostly covered. He genuinely liked and mostly trusted Ariadne, but it was bad enough when Dom saw his scars. He didn't need to go giving everyone a free show.

"I'm really sorry," Ariadne repeated, twisting her hands before her. "I was making breakfast to apologize for showing up unannounced -- which was mostly Arthur's fault, I swear, because I thought sure he'd have contacted you -- but I couldn't find the brown sugar. I looked _everywhere_ , but I couldn't find it. And no one else is awake, and I can't just stop in the middle of what I'm doing, so I just, I had no choice but to--"

"It's all right," Dom yawned, cutting in as Ariadne broke off, and Eames rolled slightly so that Dom could slide out from under him. Dom glanced at Eames and smiled at whatever he saw, a soft, happy expression, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Dom needed a shave, his hair was a mess, and he looked utterly delightful. Eames didn't like to think about what a wreck he himself was first thing in the morning. "Looks like Eames was already awake and Phillipa is up."

As if on cue the toilet in the master bath flushed and the water in the sink began running. Pippa was a good girl who knew to wash up after using the bathroom.

Ariadne fidgeted, but she seemed a little less embarrassed now, her blush fading, though her cheeks remained a fetching shade of pink.

"The brown sugar." Dom thought for a moment, rubbing at his eyes. "We just ran out and the new box is...."

"I think it's in the breadbox," Eames offered, very slowly, very carefully sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress, though he continued to hold the sheet against his chest with his good hand. He was still very sore, but not as much so as yesterday morning. Proving, he hoped, that he would recover more quickly now than he had done directly after being shot.

"What's it doing there?" Ariadne asked incredulously, her dark brows rising.

Dom chuckled and ran a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to tame it. "Lord only knows. I'm just glad Eames has a sharper mind than I do."

Eames snorted at this blatant untruth. Just because he usually knew where things were....

"All right, I'll get back to making breakfast," Ariadne said, and she was giving them a curious, strangely fond look, her lips curling in a little smile. "If you're getting up soon, I'll get the coffee started too."

"Sure, we'll be there soon," Dom replied easily, dragging his hand over his face, as Phillipa emerged from the bathroom and James sat up. "Kids, you want to help Ariadne make breakfast?"

Eames thought Ariadne made a small sound that might have been a protest, but she smiled cheerfully enough as the kids turned to her. "I'm making chocolate waffles, how does that sound?" she enthused.

Phillipa darted across to take her hand, her eyes bright, but James took a little more convincing.

"Come on, sweetheart," Dom cajoled when James would have been shy and burrowed into his chest. "Daddy has to help Uncle Eames shave, you know that."

Which, yes, they were _still_ doing, even though Eames could admit that he should have been able to do it himself for quite a while. Well, at least up until he'd fallen. Now it might well be necessary again. But whether it was or not, it was something that Dom didn't seem to want to give up, and Eames didn't have it in him to tell Dom to leave him to do it himself.

He was pondering the ramifications of this while Dom and Ariadne convinced James that his aid was desperately needed in the kitchen, and then it was just Dom and Eames in the bedroom.

"I'll talk to Arthur today," he said as soon as they were alone, before he even knew the words were going to leave his lips. He realized as he spoke them that he truly meant them, though. As tough as it was going to be, as awkward a conversation as that was going to be, it had to happen. Eames needed to put that part of his life behind him in order to move on with the rest of his life.

To move on with his life together with the Cobbs.

Dom gave him a wide smile that almost seemed shy, and that was all the motivation that Eames needed.

He could do this. He _had_ to do this. For Dom _and_ for himself.

***

Ariadne found that she was smiling the entire time she whipped up a world class breakfast. Cobb's kitchen was well equipped and his pantry well stocked, but of course she had already known this from the first time she'd visited, as much as it had surprised her at the time.

No, what had brought the smile to her face was... well, Cobb and Eames. And that was something she never would have expected in a million years she'd have cause to think. But they had looked so sweet, curled up in bed together. Cobb and Eames, and also James. Phillipa had already been up by the time Ariadne had knocked on the door, but she was certain that the four of them had made an adorable little family, all sleeping in bed together like that.

She still wasn't sure what exactly was going on between Cobb and Eames, but they were clearly close. And she thought that they were good for each other.

Certainly, Eames had looked better this morning than he had when she had first seen him the day before. He'd looked rested and relaxed, his hair a complete disaster, his jaw dusted with stubble. The lines around his nose and mouth had eased and he'd looked almost younger, rather than older than he had looked to her during the Fischer job. It was strange, what a single night's sleep could do, but it had been a night spent in Cobb's arms, and Ariadne had a feeling that this had made the difference for Eames.

"Thank you for letting me help," Phillipa said earnestly, and she had a streak of chocolate waffle batter on her cheek, her eyes bright. Ariadne wasn't a very maternal person, but she had to admit that Cobb's children were something special. They made it easy for her to endure their presence, and even to enjoy it.

It was still going to be a long time, if ever, before she had her own children, though.

"Thank _you_ for helping me," she replied, smiling at Phillipa.

"I'm helping too!" James declared, his mouth smeared with the fresh strawberries Ariadne had been slicing to go in a fruit salad. Both of the kids were still in their pajamas, but Ariadne thought that this was just as well, considering they'd gotten more than a little messy during their adventures with breakfast preparation.

"You're both wonderful helpers," she said, and hoped she managed not to sound too condescending. The fact was that she probably could have done this more easily alone. But Phillipa and James were so enthusiastic about it, James finally leaving behind the last of his shyness, and Ariadne also congratulated herself that she was giving Cobb and Eames some alone time. What they were going to _do_ with that time... well, that wasn't up to her to speculate. Although she kind of couldn't help doing so.

"Good morning all," Professor Miles said cheerfully as he entered the kitchen. To Ariadne's great relief he was clothed, though she supposed a nice dressing gown wouldn't have been so terrible. "I smell something delicious."

"Ariadne is making chocolate waffles!" Phillipa explained, darting over to give her grandfather a quick hug. "With chocolate chips in them, and whipped cream for on top!"

"It's probably the coffee as well," Ariadne offered, blushing a little to be caught being so domestic by her professor. She didn't know why it mattered, but it kind of did.

"Actually, I prefer tea, and have been preparing it for Eames as well," Professor Miles said mildly, giving her a polite smile and not seeing as discomfitted in the slightest as Ariadne was. "Evidently Dom is dreadful at it."

Ariadne turned to peel another waffle off the iron in order to avoid giggling over this dry statement. It wasn't even funny. Was it?

Okay, it kind of was. And it kind of cemented the image in her mind of Cobb and Eames being all domestic together on a regular basis, and that was something that she was still having trouble coming to grips with, but it was so charming in its strange, bizarre way.

As she finished up the breakfast preparations and Professor Miles brewed some perfect morning tea, Arthur joined them, headed directly for the coffeepot with his eyes barely slitted open. Despite that, he was already dressed and pomaded, armored against the coming day. Ariadne sort of wanted to give him a hug, but she wasn't sure why. Maybe because instead of being tightly closed off like the night before, he looked a little lost amidst the chaos of the kitchen. Maybe it was because she had seen Cobb and Eames sharing a bed when she was pretty sure that Arthur had once been involved with Eames... in some manner. She had never been able to figure it out, but it had been real, and it was definitely over, whatever it had been.

Instead of hugging Arthur, though, since they didn't have that kind of relationship, she dished him up a plate heaping with waffles and whipped cream, with plenty of fruit and bacon on the side. She hoped Cobb wouldn't mind all the ingredients she had used to make breakfast, but she doubted it would be a problem. Heck, he'd probably be glad someone other than himself was cooking.

And he did thank her when he and Eames entered the kitchen a few minutes later, slinging an arm around her in a quick half hug once he'd gotten Eames situated on a chair. "Looks great," he enthused, stealing a strip of bacon off the plate she'd been preparing for Eames.

"Hey!" She swiped a strip off of Cobb's plate in retaliation, plopping it on Eames' and then sliding it onto the table in front of him. "Good morning," she greeted, because she hadn't really done so when she'd barged into the bedroom, and it was only polite. She wanted to kiss his cheek, but she was afraid that would get her in hot water with Cobb.

"Morning, love," he murmured, giving her a small smile, even though most of his attention seemed to be on the mug of hot tea that Professor Miles had pressed into his good hand.

"I added some fruit so we can pretend the waffles are healthy," she announced to everyone at once and no one in particular, and then went to _finally_ get her own. She was starving, and had tried to keep her snacking to a minimum while she'd been cooking, so as not to set a bad example for the kids.

There was barely room for all of them at the kitchen table, but no one suggested going out to the dining room. It was comfortable and homey and smelled good, and so they _made_ it work. James ended up on Cobb's lap, and Phillipa gave up her seat to Ariadne so that she could go and stand beside Eames' chair, but neither of the children seemed to mind, nor did Cobb or Eames.

Whatever discomfort Ariadne had sensed the night before, it was mostly gone this morning. It reminded her of her first visit here, only there were a lot more guests this time. Well, and evidently another family member....

 _"Uncle Eames lives here now,"_ Phillipa had said. She'd said it with such certainty, and Eames hadn't contradicted her. It certainly seemed to be true.

Ariadne _hoped_ that it was true, because it seemed to be good for everyone involved.

Well, everyone other than Arthur. But he wasn't part of the family. And, really, it was none of Ariadne's business. She just hoped it was all going to work out all right in the end.


	6. Chapter 6

Once breakfast was eaten and cleaned up after, once everyone -- mostly meaning Phillipa and James -- had gotten tidied up and dressed, Cobb turned to Ariadne.

"Do you want to go shopping with me and the kids?" he asked, raising his brows. Arthur hadn't seen or heard Cobb so consistently cheerful since before Mal's death. The home life really was agreeing with him. "We're running low on groceries, and I want your input on what I buy if you're helping me with the cooking."

"Sure." Ariadne didn't look one hundred percent as though she _wanted_ to, but she certainly wasn't going to turn Cobb down when he had a good point. Besides, Arthur was quick enough to be fairly well certain that Cobb was trying to manipulate it so Arthur and Eames could have some time alone to talk, and Ariadne was a bright enough young woman to have totally picked up on that.

Arthur wasn't sure how he felt about this, from either of them. Gratitude and resentment battled within his breast, as well as relief and foreboding. He was a little torn. He really _hated_ feeling as though he was being manipulated, but he could admit to the need to speak to Eames in privacy.

"Yay, a trip to the store!" James cheered, as excited as though his father had announced they were going to the zoo. Arthur wondered if the Cobb family got out much, with the condition Eames was in, considering Cobb's clear reluctance to leave his side.

Phillipa was more restrained, but she seemed equally pleased by the idea of going shopping. "I wish you could come with us, Uncle Eames," she said, grasping at Eames' left hand with both her smaller hand and giving him a soulful look.

"Someday, darling," he murmured, kissing her soft, round cheek. Arthur took a moment to consider how much it must chafe Eames to be completely trapped in this house when time was he could have gone anywhere and done anything he wanted at the drop of the hat, on his slightest whim.

On the other hand Eames didn't seem to mind being here, from what Arthur could see. And if there was more than a touch of bitterness attached to that thought... well, it wasn't as though he hadn't had _any_ feelings for Eames. He just hadn't been in _love_ with the other man.

He didn't really want to think about the matter any further, but he was going to have to, wasn't he? Because even before Cobb left the house, Miles was excusing himself to "go and meet with a colleague". Arthur didn't know whether this errand was actual or feigned, but either way, that meant that he and Eames were going to be here together, alone.

Arthur wasn't staring, he _wasn't_ , but he absolutely did not miss the fact that Cobb kissed Eames on the mouth once he'd gotten him settled on the sofa, before heading out with Ariadne and the kids. Arthur felt something in his stomach wrench painfully, and he couldn't even place a name to the rush of emotions that seeing that made him feel. He was pretty sure he wasn't jealous... but then what else could it be?

As Cobb passed Arthur on his way out the door, he hissed, "Be careful with him," and Arthur was dead certain that Cobb didn't mean physically. Especially considering the way that Cobb narrowed his eyes at him. Arthur knew that look, and he knew enough to respect it.

He nodded, keeping his face carefully neutral. This wasn't any of Cobb's business, no matter what he and Eames were to each other, but it wasn't as though Arthur _wanted_ to hurt Eames any more than he already had. It wasn't as though he had _wanted_ to break his heart, to make him get that shattered look on his face when they had -- sort of -- broken up.... If that was what one could even call it.

It hadn't been Arthur's fault he didn't return Eames' affections, but he hadn't meant to be so cruel in rejecting them. He'd just overreacted. Had lashed out without thinking, and had done more damage than he had ever intended.

Knowing now that Eames had very nearly gotten himself killed off before they could talk about it, that Arthur might never have gotten the chance to apologize and clear the air... that made him feel a little panicked after the fact. Even though he hadn't known at the time and could do nothing about it now.

Great, nothing like feeling even more off balance and unsettled, going into this oncoming, inevitable conversation.

Once the others left -- Ariadne tossing him one last anxious glance, and really, what kind of raging asshole did they all think he _was_?! -- Arthur sat down on the other end of the sofa, at a safe distance from Eames.

Eames was leaning into the corner where the arm and back met, and he was absently rubbing at the right side of his chest with his left hand, his brow heavily creased, his gaze shuttered.

"Do you need any pain pills?" Arthur asked, because the impending discussion was likely to be painful enough, and also because he remembered how damaged Eames had looked the day before, even though he seemed to be doing much better so far today.

Eames shook his head slightly, and his eyes were fixed on Arthur's face, mournful but not accusative. He didn't look as though he was planning on picking a fight, at least. Not that Arthur had expected it of him, but he wouldn't have been surprised. He wouldn't actually have blamed him.

Really, Eames just looked _tired_ , and that plucked at Arthur's nerves, making him feel like the bad guy here. He wasn't the bad guy. He _wasn't_.

"You and Cobb seem happy... together," he said, because he might not be a bad guy but he could be a dick, and because he wanted to know what was going on between the two of them.

Eames' full mouth twitched, pulling tight on one side, and Arthur was reminded all over again of how much weight the other man had lost. He looked like a completely different person. Down to the abject weariness in his eyes, instead of the intensity and alertness that Arthur had been used to. Resignation and sadness instead of playful desire. Before Arthur had chased all that away, had driven Eames away.

"It's not what you're thinking," Eames rumbled, lifting his left hand and rubbing his upper lip in that familiar tell that obviously hadn't changed even though almost everything else had. "It's not as though I have the energy for sex, yeah?"

Arthur frowned. "There can be love between two people without there being sex," he said dryly before he could stop himself.

"Just like there can be sex without love?" Eames drawled wearily, even as Arthur was mentally berating himself for giving the other man that perfect opening.

Arthur felt his face tighten, and he knew he looked disapproving, but he was feeling put on the defensive. "Face it, Eames," he snapped, his ears and the back of his neck hot, his heart racing, thumping against his breastbone, "You weren't in love with me."

"Oh, fuck off, Arthur!" Eames answered harshly, actually raising his voice, and Arthur knew him well enough to know that if he'd had the strength, Eames would have been jumping up off the sofa and pacing furiously. "You don't get to tell me that!" His left hand slashed through the air before him, and Arthur couldn't help wincing on his account, because that had to have hurt.

"You _can't_ tell me that I wasn't in love with you, because I _was_ ," Eames continued forcefully, practically spitting the words at him. "That might not be what you want to hear, and I know now that you never loved me, but don't you _dare_ sit there and try to tell me what _I_ felt! You don't know, you obviously never knew, but that doesn't change the fact that it was true!"

Arthur could feel his cheeks flushing to match Eames', because everything that Eames had said was true, much as Arthur hated to admit it. But then, suddenly, completely unexpectedly, Eames' face drained of color, and he slumped back into the sofa, his eyes wide and unseeing.

"Are you okay?" Arthur asked urgently, moving closer, ready to go and grab the pain meds if need be, ready to phone Cobb if this was some sort of emergency. But Eames waved a hand clumsily, his lips working until he could get the words out.

"It's nothing. I... I just... I-- Oh, _God_ , I owe Dom an apology."

Arthur watched in confusion as Eames covered his face with both hands, despite the fact that he generally avoided using his right arm at all. He was shaking, visibly, and Arthur actually wanted nothing more than to touch him, to offer him comfort. But he didn't have any right to do so, had thrown that right away. So all he could do was sit there and watch carefully, making sure that Eames really was all right, like he had said, and wonder how this conversation had gotten derailed and where Eames' mind had taken it.

"God," Eames groaned, low and pained, then he dropped his hands into his lap, staring blankly at absolutely nothing.

"Eames?"

Those dark grey eyes flickered, fixing on him, and Eames gave Arthur the most pathetic attempt at a smile that he thought he had ever seen. Even though the subject seemed to have veered from them and what they'd had, he suddenly felt like he should apologize for putting that look on Eames' face.

"I note that you're speaking in past tense," he said carefully, scooting closer and taking Eames' left hand in his, even though this might have been a stupid idea. He just... needed to get closer somehow. Needed to feel as though he had a chance of connecting with Eames, somehow.

Eames hand was warm but trembling faintly, and he looked at Arthur with so much sadness in his eyes.

"God, I wish you had never shown up," he said, his voice so low that it was almost a whisper. If Arthur hadn't moved closer he probably wouldn't have heard him. "I don't want to talk to you. Not about this. I don't want to see you anymore. I'm so fucking _tired_ of all this."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, and he said it sincerely. He tightened his fingers around Eames' hand, willing him to believe the apology, even if he didn't accept it. "Eames, honestly. I didn't mean to say the things I said."

Eames just gave him a cynical look.

"Well." Specificity was key, especially when talking about emotions. "I meant about half of them. But I didn't mean to say any of them the way I said them. It wasn't ever _just_ sex, and I knew that. I knew that even as I said it, and I'm sorry. But mostly I'm sorry for accusing you of-- of not..... You know."

Eames looked away, but his color was coming back, and his hand closed around Arthur's in return.

"Do you believe me?" Arthur couldn't help asking, his voice more small and less steady than he had meant it to come out.

Eames blinked at him. "You've never lied to me, Arthur," he said softly. "Even when sometimes it would have been more kind to do so. Yes, I believe you."

"I'm sorry that I didn't feel the same way," Arthur said, taking his cue from Eames and speaking in the past tense. In an ironic, obnoxiously selfish way it sort of wounded his pride, knowing that Eames had gotten over him, even though Arthur would never have admitted this to anyone, was embarrassed to acknowledge it in the privacy of his own mind. But he knew that if it was true, if Eames truly wasn't in love with him any longer, it was only for the best. It was definitely best for Eames' sake.

"No reason you should have done," Eames muttered. His eyes slid closed but he didn't pull his hand from Arthur, didn't seem to be withdrawing either physically or emotionally. "I made assumptions I shouldn't have. I'm--"

"Don't apologize," Arthur interrupted quickly. Because if Eames went and said he was sorry for falling in love with Arthur, then Arthur was just going to feel like the biggest asshole on the face of the planet. "Not for that. It's... it's done. It's over, right? We had different expectations. I was surprised and didn't take it well, and you're--"

He broke off, not quite sure how to continue, already feeling stripped raw and bare by his own words, by the things that Eames had said.

"It's not that I'm over you," Eames continued, raising his eyes to meet Arthur's gaze steadily. "You know emotions don't just go away. But it's not as painful as it used to be, yeah? And I think... I think it'll be all right," he finished quietly.

Arthur winced. "It's not really my fault," he said softly, but he said it sadly, not defensively. "Any of it."

"No, it's not," Eames agreed, still meeting his eyes. He looked... tired, but he looked better. At peace. As though this awkward, uncomfortable conversation had actually done him some good.

"Will you accept my apology anyway?" Arthur asked spontaneously.

Eames looked at him, really _looked_ at him, and for the first time since they had begun sleeping together Arthur felt as though maybe they understood one another.

"No need, darling," Eames whispered, and his fingers were so tight around Arthur's that the grip almost hurt. "But I appreciate hearing the words."

Arthur dared to smile, just a little bit, and he sort of wanted to kiss Eames once more, one final time, but he'd given up that right.

And, evidently that was Cobb's place now. Even though he had no right to ask, even though Eames had already halfway denied it -- but not in so many words, Arthur noted -- he just had to know. "So... you and Cobb?"

Eames glared, and Arthur almost expected him to lash out, to tell him that it was none of his business. It really wasn't, no matter how curious he was, and no matter that he and Eames had once been lovers.

But instead, Eames answered honestly, giving a shrug of his left shoulder. "He says he loves me. I don't know why. I don't-- I'm not sure how I feel, but I think...."

"It's okay," Arthur interrupted, though he might not actually be interrupting, since Eames didn't seem to be inclined to complete his last sentence. "I just... I hope you're happy, Eames. I couldn't be what you wanted, but I've never wished anything other than good for you."

Eames was silent. Arthur wasn't sure what he might have expected him to say.

"I think Cobb is good for you," he pursued, giving Eames' hand a little squeeze. "God help me, I never thought I'd speak those words, before or during the Fischer job, but...."

"But he's different now," Eames supplied.

"No," Arthur replied slowly, thoughtfully. "No, it's more as though he's like he used to be. Back before Mal's death. Back when he was still happy."

"Ah." Eames nodded, and when he tugged his hand away, Arthur let go immediately. "I didn't know him then. Obviously."

Arthur smiled at him, a little ruefully, but he was feeling better about this whole thing now. He hoped that Eames felt better too. He thought that he might.

"I didn't think that this conversation would go so smoothly," he commented spontaneously, speaking honestly. He wondered if he should move back, away from Eames, but decided that it would be all right not to.

Eames glanced at him from under heavy lids, his lips quirking at the corners in something that wasn't quite a smile, was almost a grimace. "It probably wouldn't have done, before I got shot," he rumbled quietly. He looked tired, and Arthur considered offering to get his pain medication again. "There's something about nearly dying that makes a man reflective."

"You have a point," Arthur agreed. He'd never come as close to dying as Eames had -- hell, according to Phillipa, Eames _had_ died, more than once -- but his life had been in danger before. That sort of thing tended to make some things seem less important, like pride and anger, and other things seem vital, like loved ones and a man's sense of self.

"I'm not glad you almost died," Arthur said softly, relaxing into the sofa, still sitting beside Eames, close but not touching. "And I'm still sorry for how I reacted. But I'm glad we had a chance to have this talk."

Eames just looked at him, sliding so that his cheek was resting against the back of the sofa. "It's really over, isn't it." He didn't speak the words as though they were a question.

Arthur gave it some consideration. When he saw Cobb touching Eames in the ways that he had done previously, when he saw the easy affection and real emotions between them, he _did_ feel jealous. But not possessive. And he wasn't inclined to fight to get Eames back, only wanted to the man to be happy, even if that meant being happy with someone else. So, while he had through the years developed something that he thought was probably love for Eames, no matter how often they had clashed and fought, he was not _in love_ with him, and he couldn't pretend that he was.

"I care about you," he said, even though it cost him to be so open and honest. But it was only fair, when Eames had been the one to confess his love the last time they'd talked. "I always will. But I care enough to want to see you happy, and I can't make you happy. Not because I don't want to. Because I _can't_. I hope we can be friends -- the more so because I'm friends with Cobb -- but we can't be lovers anymore. So, yeah, in a sense, that part of our relationship is over. But I hope we can develop a better relationship, beyond that."

Eames gave him a long, unreadable look, and Arthur kept his expression as open and easy as he could make it. "Are you with Ariadne?" was what Eames finally asked, completely out of the blue as far as Arthur was concerned.

"No," he replied immediately. After all, Eames sort of had the right to ask, since Arthur had asked _twice_ about Eames and Cobb. "We don't have those sorts of feelings for each other." He pressed his lips together. "Eames, I did not fall in love with someone else while we were still sleeping together."

Eames blinked and looked startled. "I wasn't-- I wasn't going to accuse you of anything like that," he said breathlessly, and Arthur relaxed, as it was clear that the idea hadn't even occurred to the other man. "I just wondered. I thought.... It would hurt, but I'd have been pleased for you both."

Arthur shook his head, his mouth quirking up wryly at one corner. "I'm pretty sure she can do better than me."

Eames scowled at him. "Are you criticizing my taste in men?"

This surprised a laugh out of Arthur. And that felt good. Especially when Eames smirked at him, looking sleepy and still a little drawn, but more at ease. As though they were not only okay, but this might be something they could joke about.

"I can't say yes without insulting Cobb, and I'm a guest in his house right now, so I think I'll pass," Arthur replied, still smiling.

Eames' expression melted to something pensive and distant.

"For what it's worth," Arthur said hesitantly, pretty sure it wasn't his place to say anything, but unable to remain silent, "You and Cobb... I think it'd be good. It might work. I mean, if he's really like he was before, you know? And you're different now too. Quieter...."

Eames let out a soft breath that probably would have been a laugh in better times. "Not by choice," he rasped. "Everything makes me tired now. Scrapbooking with Pippa. Brushing my teeth."

"No, it's not that," Arthur argued. "Honestly, Eames. Take it from someone who's known you for years. You're different now. Time was you would have sold anyone out for the right price. Now, you've proved you're willing to die to keep James and Phillipa safe."

"I wasn't exactly thinking," Eames said, and he was still arguing. Well, of course he was; that was the kind of person he was. That was the kind of relationship he and Arthur had always had, even when they'd been sleeping together. _Especially_ then. "It was instinct."

"And your instinct was to do the right thing," Arthur pointed out patiently. "Proving that you're a good man. A better man than you used to be. Is that so hard to believe? Cobb's better than he was, right?"

"Definitely," Eames muttered vehemently, and Arthur sensed that Eames still hadn't one hundred percent forgiven Cobb for what had happened during the Fischer job.

"People are always evolving," Arthur said, leaning to match Eames' slouch on the sofa, his cheek pressed against the back. Eames wasn't meeting his gaze, but if he'd wanted to this would make it easier for him. "Why deny that you've changed?"

"Because I feel that it's been forced on me," Eames whispered, biting at his lower lip, his eyes cast down and hidden behind long lashes. "Because I'm not sure this is by choice."

"Most changes aren't," Arthur didn't hesitate to point out. "Eames, most changes are a result of external influences, not internal. What I said to you, as shitty as it was, changed things for both of us. When you got shot, that changed you as well. Spending time with Cobb and his kids has had an effect. Spending time with Ariadne is affecting me, even though we're not in a relationship. Can you tell me that if you were magically better, right now, you would get up off this sofa and walk out that door? Leave James and Phillipa behind? Leave Cobb behind? Because the man you used to be would have done. But I'm willing to bet just about anything that you _wouldn't_. Not now."

Eames was staring at him, his expression unreadable. "You know, I really hate it when you do that," he said, his voice even, but then spoiling the effect by biting at his lower lip again, teeth pressing hard into the plush swell.

"What?" Arthur asked ruthlessly. "Make sense?"

Eames huffed another soundless laugh, just a burst of air because he didn't have the strength for more. "No, read my mind. Tell me the things I already know but don't want to face. It drives me crazy."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, pretty much uselessly because he wasn't and Eames knew that he wasn't. "Do you want me to take it back?"

"No." Eames shook his head, a thick strand of hair sliding across his forehead and tumbling into his left eye. He really needed a trim, but Arthur figured it was Cobb's place to say something about it, not his. "You're right. And I already knew all that. It's all crossed my mind before, believe me. I just.... I was trying to ignore it."

Arthur gave it a moment's consideration. This really wasn't any of his business. But if Cobb had already confessed his feelings to Eames and Eames wasn't sure how he felt, wasn't it Arthur's responsibility as a friend to both of them to help them figure out what was going on?

Well, no, not really. But that wasn't going to stop him. He was no Ariadne, but sometimes he couldn't help butting in when he so obviously knew better than those involved.

"You should give this a chance, Eames. Give Cobb a chance."

"Too soon, Arthur," Eames chided.

"Sorry," Arthur said promptly, and this time he meant it.

Eames smiled at him, and his eyes were soft. "I'm teasing. Mostly."

Arthur didn't get angry. It was only fair Eames get a little of his own back. Arthur hadn't been wrong in not feeling the same way Eames had felt, but he'd been a dick about communicating this. He owed Eames a little payback.

So, instead, he smiled, knowing it looked more fond than anything else. "You're right, though. But I hope you'll take my advice seriously, even if it's unwelcome."

"Not so much unwelcome as..." Eames paused and sighed heavily, "Uncomfortable."

"Change can be uncomfortable," Arthur said, not very comfortingly. "But, honestly, I don't think Cobb will ever treat you as badly as I did. And I don't think you'll break his heart the way I did yours, even if it comes out that you can't love him the way he loves you. You guys are going to be all right."

Eames stared at Arthur so hard that it was difficult not to fidget. "You _have_ changed," he finally said, in a wondering tone of voice. "You'd never have been so open before."

"I told you, spending time with Ariadne is having an effect on me," Arthur offered, grinning wryly. "That wasn't hyperbole. It's tough to keep secrets around her, you know? And she cares so much that it's kind of contagious."

"Are you sure you don't--"

"No, Eames," Arthur said firmly, but he couldn't help smiling as he spoke. "Absolutely not. I'll admit to having stolen a kiss from her during the Fischer job, in an effort to throw the projections off the scent, but that's as far as it's ever gone. That's as far as it'll ever go. She feels the same way about me, trust me. I know."

"Okay, okay," Eames said, and for a wonder he was grinning back at Arthur. Arthur felt tension he hadn't known he was holding leave his spine and shoulders, and he sort of melted into the sofa back that he and Eames both had their heads pillowed against. Had Cobb's furniture always been this cushy? Or maybe he just felt at ease because he was feeling so relieved. This had gone better than he ever could have hoped.

He and Eames gazed at each other for a long moment, smiling and comfortable in one another's presence. It really was going to be all right between them, Arthur thought. Eames was so changed from the cocky forger Arthur had used to have sex with that there was very little residual attraction -- not that Eames was less handsome than he had been -- and they seemed to have settled things between them, at least for now, to the point that they could be... friends?

Well, so Arthur hoped. And he thought that Eames was amenable to this also.

"I'm glad we talked," he said.

"As am I," Eames murmured, his eyelids growing heavy. "But now that we're done, I hate to ask...."

"You need some painkillers?" Arthur guessed.

"Yeah," Eames breathed. "Sorry. I'll probably doze off and deprive you of my stimulating conversation, but I think I pulled something that shouldn't have been pulled when I was getting all worked up earlier."

"I'm sorry," Arthur blurted, even as he moved to get off the sofa and fetch the amber pill bottle Cobb had left close at hand. "That was my fault."

"Wasn't," Eames contradicted him. "And anyway, you approached this so reasonably that I was able to remain largely calm. Thank you for that. A shouting match wouldn't have been much good when I can barely speak at a normal level."

"You're getting better, though, aren't you?" Arthur asked, as though he hadn't looked up Eames' hospital records the night before, after retiring. As though he didn't know that being able to walk and talk and speak at all was a hundred times better than dying on the surgery table three times. Thank God the doctors had been able to revive Eames and _keep_ him alive.

"Every day a little more," Eames said cynically, as he accepted the pill and glass of water that Arthur handed him. "Slow going, though."

"Progress is progress," Arthur told him, knowing it was obnoxious of him to do so, but it was true nevertheless. He took the glass back and sat on the sofa again. After all, he didn't have anywhere else to be.

Eames actually stuck his tongue out at Arthur.

"Cutting riposte," Arthur chuckled. "I think you've been hanging out with James and Phillipa too long."

"Forever wouldn't be long enough," Eames mumbled, almost as if speaking to himself.

Arthur couldn't help his broad smile. "Or at least until they go off to college."

Eames' eyes flashed to him, as though he hadn't even realized he was speaking. "Bite your tongue!"

"Someday, Phillipa is going to want to _date_ ," Arthur informed Eames, if anything his smile widening.

"Pippa's not even in school yet, you git," Eames growled, and Arthur outright laughed.

"Face it, Eames. You're already a part of the Cobb family. Cobb wants you, the kids want you, and you don't want to leave. It's hopeless."

Instead of reacting violently, Eames only got a thoughtful expression on his face, and he sank into the sofa.

"For what it's worth, I'm a little jealous," Arthur added honestly. "Of you and of them. But mostly I'm glad for you. And glad that Cobb's realized what he has."

"What he has, huh?" Eames licked his lips, but he still looked contemplative, not upset.

"I think so," Arthur said assertively, still grinning.

Eames didn't return his smile, but after a moment he nodded, and simply said, "Well, maybe so."


	7. Chapter 7

Dom wasn't sure what he'd been expecting to find when he got home. He trusted Arthur, obviously he did, or he'd never have left Eames home alone with him. But that hadn't stopped his stomach from tying itself in nervous knots the entire time he'd been out of the house. It'd been a good thing Ariadne had been with him to keep an eye on the kids; otherwise they'd probably have gotten into all kinds of mischief while his attention was elsewhere.

"They're fine, Cobb," Ariadne said as they carted the groceries into the kitchen. She and Dom had five bags each, Phillipa had two, and James had insisted on carrying a bunch of bananas, for some reason. "You know that, right?"

"I know," Dom replied absently, even though he knew no such thing.

"Hey, kids, you want to help me put the groceries away while Daddy goes and checks on Uncle Eames?" Ariadne enthused, hefting her load onto the countertop. Dom dumped his with alacrity and zipped out of the kitchen, promising himself that he'd do something extra nice for Ariadne in the near future.

Entering the living room was something of an anticlimax after all the time Dom had spent agonizing.

Eames was right where Dom had left him, curled in the corner of the sofa, his face squished against the back. By all appearances he was deeply asleep. Arthur sat beside him, not too far but not too close, and he looked up from his laptop as Dom came to stand beside the sofa, smiling at him.

"Have a good time?" he asked Dom, his matter of fact tone making Dom feel like all kinds of a fool for having worried himself nearly sick the whole time he'd been gone.

"It was grocery shopping," Dom shrugged, not able to keep his eyes from fixing on Eames, who had begun to lazily stir at the sound of their voices. "Nothing special."

Arthur nodded, Dom could see him in his peripheral vision. "Eames had to take a pill," he said, "But otherwise he's all right."

"And are... you... all right?" Dom asked, hoping he was putting the right emphasis in the right places as he asked this question but kind of assuming that Arthur would understand no matter how he asked.

"We're fine," Eames rumbled sleepily, his eyes slitting open. Dom glanced at Arthur and he nodded again.

"It's all good."

As relieved as this made him feel, Dom also felt a little awkward now, uncertain of what to say next. Fortunately, this was the point at which Phillipa and James escaped Ariadne's tenuous leash, tumbling into the living room and announcing the upcoming menu with great enthusiasm. Dom and Ariadne had planned it while shopping and they'd promised the kids that they could help, something they were both very excited about.

Eames roused enough to smile and assure Phillipa, who was concerned, that he was feeling okay and would definitely be eating the dinner she was going to help prepare.

Eames seemed to be doing all right, better than yesterday. He and Arthur were at ease around one another in a way that Dom hadn't seen, even before, back when they had still been lovers. Dom knew he ought to be glad, ought to be pleased, rather than jealous and even more anxious. And yet... well, he was only human.

This low-level feeling of anxiety stayed with him even as he made a quick lunch for everyone -- Arthur offered to order them pizza, but Dom thought that it would have been silly to get food delivered when he had _just_ gotten groceries -- while they did quiet afternoon things -- Phillipa showed off her scrapbook to Ariadne and Arthur built intricate towers out of blocks with James while Eames napped -- and then while he was busy making dinner with everyone in the kitchen, as noisy and chaotic as breakfast had been.

"Look, Uncle Eames, look at my apron!" Phillipa crowed, spinning in a circle even though there was hardly room for her to do so, clearly enjoying the pink ruffles that edged it. Ariadne had decided that considering the mess the kids had made of themselves that morning, they needed more protection while "helping" with dinner. Dom was a good Dad, but he wasn't a mother, and these details tended to escape his notice. Whereas, Ariadne, despite the fact that she didn't have much by way of maternal instincts, saw such things and did something about them.

"Beautiful," Eames rasped, smiling where he was sitting at the table. He looked as good as he had before falling in the shower, Dom thought, and he was a little unhappy that it had evidently been Arthur who had effected this improvement, but mostly he was glad that Eames was feeling better.

And, he reminded himself, it wasn't _Arthur_ who had made Eames look and feel better. It had been _talking_ to Arthur, which had been Dom's idea as much as it had been Eames'.

Distracted, Dom watched Phillipa twirling around the kitchen floor. She looked so much like her mother right now.

He was a little surprised to realize that this thought made him feel an aching nostalgia and painful love, but not the wrenching agony and welter of resentment, grief, and overwhelming guilt that memories of Mal had used to raise in him. He missed her, would always miss her. He would never stop loving her, and would always regret the part he had inadvertently played in causing her death, but.... Like he had told Eames, it _did_ get easier. It would never be right again, but he could move on.

Miles showed up just as dinner was finished, mellow and lightly flushed, a smile curving the lines in his face upward, smelling strongly of pipe tobacco and faintly of scotch. Dom was glad that he was here, glad that he was willing to spend time with what remained of his daughter's family. He was also very relived that Miles had never blamed him for Mal's death, even though he _had_ been to blame. But then, Miles held himself to be at least partially responsible, since he had been the one to get both Mal and Dom into the dream-share business.

Of course, it had been Dom's fault far more than Miles, but in the end, she was gone and they were the ones who had to remain behind and move on. It was fortunate that they were able to get along and stay family. Marie was less forgiving, of both of them, but at least she hadn't tried to keep Dom's kids from him once he had returned to the States for good.

Dinner was delicious, and once they were through eating, they spent the evening playing board games and talking. Dom had the passing thought that this had to be what would have been considered an incredibly dull night for Eames before he had been shot, but it was an unusually exciting evening for him as he was now.

Eames seemed to be handling it pretty well, all things considered. He didn't take any more pain medication, he didn't drowse off, and while he mostly just watched the goings-on and barely contributed verbally, his eyes were alert and he was smiling. There was no doubt that he was doing far better than he had been the day before.

This was a good thing, and Dom was glad to see it, but the truth of the matter was that he couldn't wait until it was time for bed. When he could go into the bedroom with Eames, close the door, and be _alone_ with him. It was an immature, selfish reaction, but like he had said to Eames the night before, just because he'd known that Eames needed to talk to Arthur, that didn't mean that he had _wanted_ him to. That it had evidently gone well was great, but Dom felt the completely instinctive need to stake his claim on Eames and on Eames' heart all over again.

He kind of felt like a jerk, but not so much. He'd always been a jealous lover, which had alternately flattered and infuriated Mal, and even though he wasn't necessarily "with" Eames, he had the same drive and the same reactions.

Tonight, unlike the night before, the children set up a fuss when it came time for bed, not wanting to miss out on any of the fun. But this time Dom had Ariadne to back him up, and between the two of them they got James and Phillipa into their pajamas, teeth brushed, and in bed only a bit past the usual time.

Ariadne even read them a bedtime story, which for some reason they found to be more interesting and exciting than when Dom normally did it. It must have been the novelty of it, he thought, since Ariadne didn't even do the voices, the way _he_ did.

"You guys try to sleep in your own beds all night, okay?" Dom entreated once Ariadne had left the room, Dom remaining behind to give out good-night kisses. James and Phillipa each had their own room, but they had been sharing ever since James had been born. Someday they might separate, especially when Phillipa got closer to puberty, but for now they took comfort in one another's company. "You know Uncle Eames and I don't mind when you join us, but it's time to be more grown up. You have your own beds for a reason. And you know that Uncle Eames and I will always be here when you wake up in the morning; neither of us is going anywhere without you. I'm sorry I was gone for so long, but that's _not_ going to happen again."

"Okay, Daddy," Phillipa said obediently, not seeming at all upset by this directive. James had gotten a stubborn, pouty look on his face, but then he glanced at his older sister and reluctantly nodded.

"Is it okay to come in if I have a bad dream?" he wanted to know.

"Of course it is," Dom assured him. "But you're only going to have good dreams tonight, right?" He reached out to tickle James' tummy. "Right?"

"Only good dreams," James giggled, making a mess of the bedcovers as he kicked and squirmed. Once Dom got them straightened out, he gave each of his darling babies a tight hug and a soft kiss, then wished them both a good night's sleep. There was a golden nightlight shining in the corner, on James' side of the room, and Dom thought there was only a fifty-fifty chance they'd stay in their own beds all night, but he'd had to try. If he kept trying, calmly and patiently, eventually it would work.

To be fair, he knew that both his children tried as well. There were nights when they both stayed in their beds, or when only one of them snuck into the master bedroom. But Dom felt that he should reinforce the behavior he desired every once in a while. So that the kids didn't think he'd gone soft. He knew that they would take every inch that he gave them. And while he did love them and didn't mind them in his bed, eventually it was going to become too much. Better to do his best now to wean them off of the dependency, no matter how natural it was, with the abandonment issues they were both working through.

Dom knew he was pretty much completely responsible for doing that to his beautiful children. At the time it had seemed the only thing he could do, but in retrospect, he realized that almost anything else he could have done would have been preferable.

Well, it was too late to change things now. The best he could do was try to mend the broken trust. He thought he was making progress. But, honestly, it wasn't too much to ask his kids to _try_ to sleep in their own beds all night. It was for their own good in the long run, especially as they got older.

And, of course, there was the fact that if they did, he had Eames to himself all night. That was a not inconsiderable part of it. Just because he was a father who loved his children with all his heart, that didn't mean that Dom couldn't also want something for himself.

Returning to the living room, he discovered that only Ariadne and Arthur were still present. Arthur had his laptop open again, and Ariadne was slouched beside him on the sofa, her stocking feet on the coffee table, wielding the television remote.

"Eames asked Miles to help him to the bedroom a while back," Arthur informed Dom, without taking his gaze off his computer screen. "Then Miles went out again; he said to go ahead and lock him out, he won't be back until morning."

"Ah." Dom wanted to sprint to the bedroom, but he was also torn by his desire to be a good host.

Ariadne glanced over at him and grinned. "Don't stay out here on our account, Cobb," she said, waving the remote. "We can entertain ourselves. Just be aware that we're going to be plotting something fun we can do tomorrow for the kids that Eames will be able to join us in. There's got to be _something_."

Dom nodded, trying to look as grateful as he felt without looking too pathetic for the permission. "Thanks."

"Go on," Ariadne grinned, and he narrowed his eyes, not sure he cared for the knowing, mischievous expression on her face. He wondered what she thought she knew... and how close she might be to the actual truth.

Not that he was completely sure where things stood himself. But he was about to go and get a little closer to finding out.

"Good-night," Arthur said absently, not still not looking up from his laptop, and Cobb wondered if he was doing as Ariadne had said and was making plans for the next day, or if he was looking for his next dream-share job. Well, either way, that was his business, not Dom's.

"'Night," he replied. Ariadne gave him a last wave and then started channel surfing again. Dom felt a little like a failure as a host, but he was glad that they were evidently able to entertain themselves.

He'd make it up to them by cooking a big breakfast in the morning, he thought. And then they'd do whatever Ariadne and Arthur ended up deciding they should do; as long as it was something that Eames could handle.

Speaking of Eames.... Dom entered the bedroom, feeling a strange mixture of trepidation and relief. At last, he was going to be able to speak to Eames alone for the first time after his conversation with Arthur. Dom knew it wasn't his place to demand to know what had been said... but he could at least ask Eames how he felt about whatever it had been, right?

Eames was sitting on the bed, his legs under the covers, already in his pajamas, his hairline damp and his cheeks lightly flushed, indicating that he'd already gotten ready for bed while Dom had been settling the kids. Dom was glad that he'd had the energy and strength to do so, even though he looked pretty worn out by it.

"Hey," Dom said softly, crossing and sitting on the bed, already reaching for Eames before he could process his own intent. But it was such an instinctive act that he couldn't have stopped himself if he had tried.

He wasn't really surprised to find Eames reaching back for him, and the somewhat awkward angle that their positions forced on them was easily overcome by their desire to touch, to hold, to be face to face with their hands on each other.

"Dom," Eames breathed, his forehead pressed hard against Dom's, his left hand coming up to clutch almost painfully at the nape of his neck. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"For what?" Dom asked, and despite Eames' fervor, he was feeling strangely calm. After all, Eames had been relaxed and Arthur had been composed when Dom had gotten home. They were all right with each other, but at the same time there was a distance between them. Dom really didn't feel that Eames was going to confess that he was still in love with Arthur or anything horrible like that. And Eames, as he was now, tended to apologize for things he couldn't help, things he never should have apologized for, so it wasn't as though this was unprecedented, whatever it was.

"For telling you that you weren't in love with me," Eames whispered, and he relaxed his grip enough that Dom could pull back and meet his eyes, though he didn't drop his hand. Even though it _had_ to be pulling at his bad side, at the bruises he had gotten when he'd fallen in the shower, _had_ to be hurting him. "Arthur tried that on me today, and I realized how... how utterly _obnoxious_ it was. How rude and pointless. So I needed, I needed to tell you I was sorry."

Dom couldn't help grinning in relief, even though this really was a serious conversation. "Is that all?" he asked lightly. Lightly, but not flippantly. "Don't worry about it, Eames. I know you were just looking out for both of us."

Eames gave him a doubtful look, and Dom reached up to cup his cheek in one hand, his thumb tracking over Eames' sharp cheekbone, taking the chance to _touch_ him, reveling in the fact that this was allowed. "Seriously," he added, and he wanted to kiss Eames, but he probably shouldn't indulge until after they were through talking. "I wasn't offended. I know where you were coming from."

"It's a horrible thing, telling someone what they think," Eames whispered, casting down his gaze and biting his lower lip. "Especially when you're wrong."

"There's nothing wrong with protecting yourself," Dom argued, even though last time they'd discussed this he'd been taking the opposite viewpoint. In a manner of speaking, anyway. "After what happened with you and Arthur, and considering that I sprang my own feelings on you with absolutely no warning or hints, you were totally justified in reacting the way you did."

Eames looked up and gave him a small smile. "You really did hit me with it out of the blue."

"I really did," Dom said ruefully, but he was still smiling. He still wasn't sure how Eames felt about him, but knowing that the other man was willing to accept the feelings Dom had for him... well, that was a huge step in the right direction, as far as Dom was concerned. "I'm not sorry for kissing you, but I'm sorry for doing it in a way that made you doubt my reasons for doing it."

"I wasn't justified, though," Eames said seriously. "In telling you what you felt. And I want to apologize for that. It was boorish and selfish of me."

Dom mulled that over for a moment. "I'll forgive you," he said earnestly. "On the condition that you let it go, and stop beating yourself up over it."

"Well," Eames huffed after a moment. "I guess that's not too much to ask."

"All right?"

"Yeah." Eames smiled shyly, then leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly against the corner of Dom's mouth. Outside of every kiss he'd gotten from Mal, this was the sweetest kiss Dom had ever received, even though it was a mere brush of lips against lips. And compared to his kisses from Mal.... Well, it was the same thing that Eames _was_ ; something so completely different from Dom's wife that there was no way of making comparisons.

He still missed Mal, every day. But his feelings for Eames were equally strong and just as real, and the thought of being without Eames for any reason hurt just as much as Mal's death did. If that wasn't love, if wanting to spend every moment of the rest of his life with the other man didn't mean he was in love with Eames, then he had never been in love with Mal either.

And that was just a patently ridiculous idea, which he put out of his head immediately.

Dom thought of Mal and he felt sad, but he didn't feel guilty for loving someone else now. He couldn't be certain, of course, how she would have reacted to his feelings for Eames, had no way of knowing. She would perhaps have been amused by Eames as he had been before being shot, but might not have liked him very well, or trusted him at all. Which would only have been fair because he had not _been_ trustworthy.

But now.... Eames was different. Dom was different as well. He was different than he had been when he had been married to Mal. And even though he had been the sole reason she had killed herself, he had not done it on purpose and would have done anything to reverse it. Who could say that Mal wouldn't have been glad that Dom had found someone he could love? He hadn't moved on, hadn't left her behind; he was simply taking the next step in his post-Mal life. She might have been jealous, because she was only human as well, but surely she would have wanted him to be happy?

Well, all of this was pure speculation on Dom's part. He couldn't know. There was no more projection of Mal, and if there had been, she wouldn't have known either.

And it wasn't the memory of Mal that was sitting in front of him now. It was Eames

Before moving in to kiss Eames back, Dom pulled away enough that he could meet his gaze again. Eames' eyes were heavy-lidded but alert. And he looked... centered. Certain. Dom still had to ask, though.

"Are you sure, Eames?"

Because, despite Eames' apology and the kiss, Dom wasn't quite clear on what this was. And he wanted to know. He supposed it was only fair, after what he had pulled on Eames the first time he had kissed him without warning.

"Not really," Eames answered, and that sounded like the truth. "But I'm willing to try and find out. With you."

"I'm not Arthur," Dom offered, because it was true.

"And I'm not Mal," Eames replied evenly. "We've both loved before, but that doesn't mean we can't love again."

That was an echo of what Dom had just been thinking, and that was as close to a confession as Eames was going to get right now. It was more than Dom had any right to expect, he knew.

"Well, as long as we both admit that we don't really know what we're doing," he said softly, grinning. "We can figure it out together."

"Sounds fair enough," Eames said, smiling at him, and he looked as relieved as Dom felt.

Dom didn't resist his inclination to lean in and kiss Eames on the mouth again, softly but with honest hunger at the same time. It felt like something that was right. It felt like something he wanted, and it felt like something he could have.

"Dom," Eames murmured as Dom reluctantly pulled away. "You know that I... I can't...."

Dom chuckled, amused despite the fact that he really shouldn't be. "Eames, I'm not some horny teenager. All I need right now is to be close to you, all right?"

Eames looked a little bit skeptical but mostly just thoughtful, and he nodded. Then, since Dom's back was starting to ache a little from his awkward position, he got up and stretched.

"I'm going to get ready for bed," he said, and he maybe should have been embarrassed by the gentle, besotted smile he graced Eames with, but he meant it. He really meant it. And, really, he _was_ a little besotted.

Eames reached up to rub at his upper lip, but then his hand dropped and he returned Dom's smile. His eyes were bright and clear. He looked tired and he looked as though he might be in pain, but he also looked at peace, even _more_ so than he had done after speaking to Arthur that afternoon. And that thought sent up a little spark of triumph in Dom's chest.

"Really," Eames spoke up as Dom changed into his pajamas, dropping his dirty clothes in the hamper. "Really, not much about our day-to-day life is changing... is it, Dom?"

Dom gave this question a moment of serious thought, pausing before headed to the bathroom. "Not much," he agreed. And that was a good thing as far as he was concerned. "But we're both going to be more honest with each other and with ourselves, right?"

Eames pulled a long face. "Do we have to?" He clearly meant it, but didn't _really_ mean it. A holdover to the man he had used to be, who had been a forger, a liar, as fluid as the world of the dream. But he wasn't that man anymore, and they both knew it.

Dom laughed lightly, glad that he could laugh, glad that he wanted to, and happy to see Eames grin in return. "I know it's hard to fathom. Things aren't the way they used to be; before Cobol, that is."

"Nothing's how it used to be, before I got shot," Eames rumbled, but he sounded contemplative, not much bothered by it. "For either of us." He tilted his head, his smile not fading. "But in a lot of ways, that's for the better, yeah?"

Dom nodded, still smiling softly. "Yeah. You're right."

Then he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He knew that when he came back into the bedroom, Eames would be there, waiting for him. Because that was the way things were now. And Eames was right; it was for the better.

Things were only going to get better from here on out. On this Dom was resolved.

***

Arthur was the first person awake the next morning, used to rising early to get in his exercises before the day started. He gave brief consideration to making breakfast, the way Ariadne had done, but since none of his talents and hard-won skills involved the ability to cook, he decided it would be best to just stick to making a fresh pot of coffee. That much he knew he could manage.

He kind of zoned out, waiting for it to brew, and so it was something of a mild surprise when Cobb entered the kitchen, yawning widely and still wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a teeshirt. Arthur had been to visit before, more than once, but he didn't think he'd ever seen Cobb so casual, so relaxed. It was a good look on him.

"Morning," Cobb said, scratching at his scalp through his mussed hair.

"How'd the kids sleep?" Arthur asked, as they both came to hover before the coffeemaker. It was nearly done, thankfully.

"Well, they stayed in their own beds all night," Cobb replied, getting a couple of mugs out of the cupboard, then grabbing the sugar. "So I'm very much hoping they slept well."

Arthur nodded. "They're still having trouble accepting that you're back to stay?"

Cobb grimaced. "Yeah. And Phillipa worries sometimes. That Eames won't live through the night. Or, well, she used to. He's doing better now, and so is she, but she still has that image in her head. Of Eames dying in a pool of blood. As well as being afraid he might stop breathing in his sleep. That's a lot for a six year old to handle."

Arthur nodded, feeling a powerful surge of sympathy for poor little Phillipa. More than for Cobb, who was clearly not completely over it, or even Eames, who was living with the fallout on a daily basis. Not that he didn't feel bad for them. But Phillipa was so young, and shouldn't have had to deal with the things she'd had to deal with in the last two and half years. Her mother's suicide, her father's disappearance, strangers trying to kill her, and Eames almost dying to save her. If _all_ she did was sneak into her father's bed some nights, she was doing better than a lot of adults might have in her situation.

The coffeemaker beeped, but Arthur held off a moment. He'd been up longer and had gotten it brewing, but this was Cobb's house and he obviously needed it more, so Arthur let him pour first. "It sounded as though the kids were there when Eames was shot?" he said, grabbing his mug and waiting his turn. "From what Phillipa said."

Cobb splashed a little as he poured his coffee, but it was barely noticeable. "Yeah. He shielded them with his own body. It's--" he swallowed, then passed the pot to Arthur, "It's been tough on Phillipa. James barely understood what was going on, didn't really get it, even though he's bright. But Pippa.... She's old enough that she knew what was happening. She knows how close Eames came to dying."

Arthur squeezed Cobb's shoulder, knowing that there was no way he could effectively comfort him, but needing the make the effort. There was so much more he wanted to know. Where they had been when Cobol had caught up to them. What had happened to the man or men who had fired the bullets that had struck Eames. Whether Cobb had taken care of them then, or whether Saito had done so after the fact.

Maybe someday he would press for all the details. But not this morning. It was a bright and sunny dawn, the coffee was delicious, Arthur and Ariadne had planned a fun day for all of them to indulge in, and it wasn't honestly any of Arthur's business. Although, speaking of which....

"So, why didn't you call me?" he asked, as they went to the table and sat down. "Not before. I believe you when you said there was no time. But after?"

"I...." Cobb bit his lip, his gaze flickering down then up. "Well, to be honest, um...."

Arthur grinned, suddenly realizing. He knew this wasn't the time for levity, that there had been a lot of bad feelings that were only beginning to mend, but it was so obvious. "Eames asked you not to tell me, didn't he."

"Yeah," Cobb said quietly, sipping his steaming coffee, both his hands folded around the mug. "Though, to be honest it, um, was my own inclination as well."

Arthur wasn't offended. After all, he knew Cobb and was familiar with his ways. "You always _were_ a bit...."

"Possessive? Jealous? Selfish?"

Arthur laughed. "Well, maybe a little bit. But Mal never gave you any reason to doubt her love, and I'm sure Eames won't either."

Cobb was staring at him with wide blue eyes, his stunned, disbelieving expression easy enough to read.

"I told you," Arthur said, more gently, his voice low. "Things are okay. It's not that I never cared for Eames. I'm not a heartless bastard who only used him for sex. I just... I couldn't feel for him the way he wanted me to, the way he felt about me. It wasn't a choice; I _couldn't_. But we're both past that now. It was harder on him than me, I know, but I've spent the last six or seven months feeling like the worst person in the world. And I did-- I _do_ love him. I was just never _in love_ with him, that was the difference ." He shook his head. "Anyway. We've agreed to be friends now, but that's all we are. So don't ever consider me a threat, okay?"

"I didn't," Cobb protested automatically. Then he looked a bit sheepish. "I mean, I don't. I mean. Well."

Arthur was still smiling, It felt good to clear the air between them, even though they were still sort of dancing around the issues. But that was the way it was going to have to be, with such a touchy subject. Especially now, when everything was still so new and emotional wounds were still in the process of healing.

Maybe someday. Maybe. Or maybe not. Sometimes it was better to bring everything out into the open, but sometimes it didn't help anything. Sometimes it was okay to let some things slip away. This might be one of those times. Arthur was willing to take that gamble.

"Well, whether you were ever inclined to consider me a threat or not, don't, from here on out. All right?"

"Yeah." Cobb nodded, and he looked thoughtful, but calm enough. "Yeah, all right."

Sometimes taking a chance was well worth the risk, and Arthur was glad to have gotten this chance to talk to Cobb privately, even though they hadn't really discussed things in depth.

"So what did you and Ariadne end up planning for today?" Cobb asked, smiling as he sipped his coffee. "I know you two; you had to have come up with something."

Arthur outright grinned, glad that they were moving on to a more pleasant subject. And also that he had an answer. A good one.

"We're having a picnic. Just on the backyard lawn, over the knoll and on the edge of the trees. It'll be nice, but not too taxing for Eames. And we're going to try to get everything involved in helping to get the lunch basket packed."

"I hope _you're_ not doing any cooking," Cobb chuckled.

Arthur scowled, even though he didn't mean the expression. "No, I'm on the drinks. But I find your lack of faith in my abilities disturbing."

Cobb snorted. "It's not a lack of faith. It's the voice of experience."

"And not a word of praise for the brilliance of the idea," Arthur continued in that vein, getting up to get himself some more coffee. "Although, to be honest, it was mostly Ariadne's. But then, all the more reason, right?"

"Absolutely," Cobb replied with surprising alacrity. "It's a brilliant idea. Good morning, Ariadne."

Arthur snorted, grinning widely, not bothering to turn around even as Ariadne sleepily returned Cobb's greeting. He'd best get his coffee and get out of her way. Soon the rest of the household would be wandering out, and they could get the day off to a good start.

Well, as far as Arthur was concerned, it already _was_ off to a good start. He anticipated that it would only get better, though.

They'd all be working together to make it so. He figured that all of them -- but especially the two kids and Eames -- deserved it. This was what a visit to the Cobb household was supposed to be like.

He'd never have thought that Eames would be a part of this household. But he was glad to see that it had somehow happened.

As strange and unexpected as it was. But then, fate so often worked in unusual ways.

And Eames was definitely at home here, in a way Arthur had never seen him at home anywhere else. It was good to know that he was so happy, and that he made Cobb so happy.

And it made Arthur happy in turn, to see them so. It honestly did.


	8. Chapter 8

The next time Ariadne visited Cobb and Eames, just a few months later, she made the trip alone.

Not because Arthur didn't want to come. But she and Arthur weren't always together, working or otherwise. In fact, while Ariadne considered that they were friends, they didn't often see each other outside of work. They just didn't really have much in common, despite the mutual affection and respect that they had for one another and the fact that they were amazing in the dream-share together.

Cobb might have been the one to introduce her to the dream-share, to get her hooked, but Arthur had been the one who had showed her how to really work it, who had trained her in the finer details. She was always going to owe him for that.

Besides, he was just a really nice guy.

Ariadne _had_ asked him, when she'd decided to visit again, whether he wanted to tag along. He'd turned her down, but not in a way that made her uncomfortable. He'd begged off due to being busy, and he was a good liar, but he'd looked her right in the eye and she was pretty sure he had been speaking the truth. And he _had_ left that night, for a job somewhere in the southern hemisphere -- he always said it was better if she didn't know the details when she wasn't involved -- so it had probably been the truth.

She knew Arthur was still doing things that were illegal or at least "not strictly legal", as Cobb had once put it, but he tried to keep her out of that side of things. She didn't feel she needed the protection, but she also didn't want to wind up on the wrong side of the law, so she didn't complain.

She was sort of glad that Arthur wasn't coming along with her, she had to admit. She still didn't know all the details, didn't dare to ask anyone involved, but she was pretty sure that Arthur and Eames had been lovers in the past, and they most definitely weren't anymore, so she could only surmise that there had been a breakup of some sort. And knowing the two of them, it probably hadn't been neat or easy.

Besides that, Eames was with Cobb now, in some way or another. It seemed that whatever problems there had been between Arthur and Eames -- and possibly between Arthur and Cobb -- they'd been resolved. But she was still glad that the three of them wouldn't be in the same place that she was during this visit.

Besides, this way she had a better chance of trying to corner either Cobb or Eames to try and get the whole story from them, what had happened, and how, and why.

This time there was no Miles answering the door. This time it was Cobb himself, because Ariadne had called ahead and made sure that not only was she was welcome, but that he was also expecting her.

"Hey, Cobb," she said, giving him a hug, still not able to call him by his given name, even though she'd been playing with the idea in her mind all the way to the States. Maybe someday.

"Hey! How was your flight?" he asked, giving her a tight squeeze that lifted her in the air before dropping her back down on her own two feet.

"It went fine," she replied. "Thanks for having me here," she added, speaking sincerely seeing as she'd pretty much invited herself over.

"We're happy to see you," Cobb told her, grinning and grabbing her bags before ushering her inside. This time there was no underlying feeling of wrongness, only anticipation and a simple sense of joy at being here.

"Ariadne!" And this time it was _her_ name that both kids squealed, and she fielded enthusiastic hugs from James as well as Phillipa.

"Hey, guys!" she exclaimed, not having to fake her happiness at seeing them. She was pretty sure that by the end of the visit she'd be less enthusiastic, but right now she had been missing them and was glad to be back.

And once she was able to drag her attention away from the kids, she could see that Eames looked even better. It hadn't been that long, just a few months, but Cobb _had_ said that Eames had been doing pretty well before falling in the shower just before she and Arthur had showed up. Whatever he had lost then, he'd made up now, and then some.

"Hi, Eames," she greeted, stepping forward and hugging him, finally feeling as though she could do so without breaking him. He was still far more slim than she was used to, even after seeing him during her last visit, but he'd gained back a little weight. He still looked tired and his hair was still incredibly messy, but he was smiling at her, and he returned her embrace readily enough, albeit with his left arm only.

"Hallo, love," he said, and it definitely sounded as though he had more breath behind the utterance than he'd had before. "You're looking lovely, as usual."

"You incorrigible flirt," Ariadne said, giving him a quick kiss before straightening. Wouldn't do to make Cobb jealous, after all. She was teasing, obviously. What Eames had said was far from flirting, but it was nice to hear him getting back to his old self, at least a bit. She had missed it while she'd visited previously, hadn't realized how disconcerted she had been by the pale shadow he had been at the time.

He still looked pretty bad, honestly, but _so_ much better than a few months ago. It was all a matter of perspective.

"You want the peach room again?" Cobb asked, hefting her bags. Ariadne wanted to help, but James had just latched onto her leg so she was kind of stuck here in the living room.

"Sure," she replied, lifting Cobb's son into her arms. "Oof. Have you grown since last time I was here?" she asked James.

"I'm always growing!" James announced cheerfully, testing her balance as he threw his arms up and out. "Daddy says someday I'll be as big as him!"

Ariadne felt a momentary qualm at the thought of little James as an adult.... And so did Eames, from the quick wince that passed over his face. But it was going to be a long time yet, and James was still tiny. Ariadne wasn't going to tell him that, though.

As Cobb disappeared down the hall toward the guest rooms with her things, Ariadne seated herself on the sofa, settling James on her lap. Phillipa clambered carefully onto Eames' left thigh, perched precariously, but with perfect balance, and it didn't seem that this bothered Eames' bad side, which Ariadne took as a good sign.

Really, Ariadne wanted to ask Eames how he was doing, how he and Cobb had been doing, but she asked the kids about how they had been instead. Because those were conversations for adults to have once Phillipa and James were in bed. Especially if she wanted honest answers.

Cobb returned before long with iced tea for the adults and juice for his kids, and sat on the sofa beside Ariadne. She thought that it should be Eames he was sitting with, but Eames was on the recliner, and neither he nor Cobb seemed to mind the separation. Well, they probably saw plenty of one another on a daily basis, Ariadne mused, letting herself become momentarily distracted from James recapping of the picnic lunch they'd had last time she had visited, as though she hadn't been there, as if she hadn't made the devilled eggs that James had almost made himself sick gorging on.

It was nice to see that he'd been so excited by it, though, she thought. Since the Cobb family couldn't do things like going to amusement parks or taking trips to the zoo, it was good that something as simple as a picnic on their own lawn could be a source of pleasure, that time spent with family and friends meant so much to Phillipa and James. Well, they had lost so much and come so close to losing more....

"Do you guys want to come and help me make dinner while Ariadne and Eames talk?" Cobb eventually asked, reaching over and plucking James out of Ariadne's arms. He didn't give his son any chance to protest, and Phillipa followed willingly enough, after pausing to give Eames a quick kiss on the cheek, and detouring on her way through the room to give Ariadne another hug.

Then the Cobbs were gone, and it was just Ariadne and Eames. And now that she had the opportunity to ask the questions she wanted, Ariadne didn't quite know where to start.

"How are you doing?" she asked, scooting closer. "Cobb updates me by email, but I want to know how you are, really."

Eames smiled at her, and he was slumped in the chair, but he didn't look as though he was in pain. "I'm good," he said, and she didn't need to strain to hear him. "Better every day. You saw me at my worst in months, last time you were here. I'm much better. I've gotten to the point that I can actually get up and cook breakfast in the morning now."

Before she could catch it, a little titter slipped out of Ariadne's mouth. Eames quirked a brow at her and she shook her head. "You just... you seem so delighted by that fact," she said, grinning widely enough that her cheeks hurt a little. "I was trying to imagine you being thrilled over something that domestic... before. You know, when I first met you."

Eames seemed to consider taking offense, but in the end he just gave her an indulgent smile, his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Things change. You know that."

"I know," she agreed. "And I think it's adorable."

Both his brows went up at this, and Ariadne very nearly laughed again. Maybe it was just jetlag affecting her brain, but she didn't think so. Because Eames really was adorable, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Not that she expected he would.

"How are _you_ doing?" he asked, possibly deflecting, but probably honestly curious. "Keeping out of trouble?"

"For the most part," she replied. "Now that I'm free of Cobb's bad influence."

"Well." Eames seemed to give that a moment's consideration. "I can't really argue that."

They smiled at each other, and Ariadne wondered if she should mention Arthur, whether Eames would want to know how he was doing, or if it might still be a touchy subject.... But in the end she steered the conversation toward what Eames did every day, how he kept busy now that he wasn't spending most of his time sleeping, how he and the kids got along.

"I think they've lost a little respect for me," Eames bemoaned, though he spoke the words with a fond, indulgent expression on his face. "Time was I could get them to do anything I wanted without raising my voice. Now that I _can_...."

Ariadne tilted her head. "Well, they love you, I can see that," she said thoughtfully. "So it might be familiarity?"

"Probably," Eames allowed, smiling, and it was at this point that James darted back into the living room and over to the recliner.

"Daddy, dinner's almost ready!" he announced, and Ariadne thought that he'd made a mistake, or that she had misheard him telling them that _Cobb_ had said dinner was almost ready. But James was definitely talking to Eames, as he reached out and tugged at Eames' wrist, on his left side.

Eames sent her a glance that she couldn't read. Not embarrassed or defiant. She honestly couldn't place a name to his expression. But evidently "Uncle Eames" was a thing of the past.

"Well, let's go, then," Eames said, rising without too much effort and waiting for Ariadne to stand as well, before allowing James to drag him in the direction of the dining room. "Shall we?"

Ariadne nodded, bemused, silent in thought as she joined Eames and James. Whatever Cobb was making for dinner, it smelled delicious, and her stomach rumbled hungrily. One thing about visiting Cobb; she always ate well. Even though this was her third stay here, she _still_ found it surprising that he could cook, and so well.

Dinner was a pleasant affair, even as such things went. Ariadne might have teased Eames about his domestic inclinations, but she had to admit that she found it just as nice to sit here with the Cobb family, listening to the kids talk, discovering that she didn't hate meatloaf when Cobb made it -- he'd had it prepared and already baking before she'd arrived, which was how he'd gotten dinner finished so quickly -- and anticipating several more days of the same. She couldn't stay for longer than a week, but she intended to make the most of the time that she was here.

"Do you want to take a drive to the coast tomorrow?" Cobb asked her as the two of them stood at the sink after dinner, doing dishes. Phillipa was fetching her scrapbook and Eames had taken James to his bedroom to change his shirt, since he had been so animated while eating that he was wearing more than a small amount of his meal.

"Is Eames up to that?" Ariadne asked, startled despite the fact that Eames was moving more easily and was doing his share of taking care of the kids.

Cobb nodded, and she was pretty sure he wasn't aware of how widely he was smiling, how happy he looked. She felt her own heart thump, warm and aching with affection for both Cobb and Eames, and how good they were for each other.

"As long as we take it easy, he'll be fine," Cobb said, handing her the last bowl to dry.

"So," Ariadne said overly-casually, aware that they were running out of time and that Phillipa would be returning any moment with her scrapbook, demanding all of Ariadne's attention. "Was I only imagining that James called Eames 'Dad' just before dinner?"

"Oh. Well. I, uh, I told the kids to think of Eames as another father," Cobb said, his cheeks faintly pink, glancing at her then averting his eyes as he pulled the drain in the sink. "Then told them to decide what to call him."

Ariadne nodded, but she also raised a brow, intrigued by the subject and by the amused curl to Cobb's lips despite his obvious embarrassment. She suspected there was more to the story. "And?"

"And so James asked if he should call him Mommy," Cobb finished, and now he was outright grinning, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "You should have seen the look on Eames' face." He shook his head. "I still can't figure out if James was serious or making a joke."

"Probably trying to break the tension," Ariadne said, not bothering to hide her own wide grin at the mental image Cobb had painted. "You do know that both your kids are too smart for your own good, right, Cobb?"

"Oh, I'm well aware," he replied, drying his hands and shaking his head. "They're already running me ragged. I can't even imagine what it's going to be like in ten years, or even in five."

"Well, at least you have Eames to help you," Ariadne told him, and she could hear Phillipa's feet pattering down the hardwood floor of the hallway leading to the kitchen. "You know I'm happy for you both, right?"

Cobb actually _blushed_ , she noted with glee. But then Phillipa was in the kitchen and it was time to admire the additions that the young girl had made to her scrapbook since the last time Ariadne had seen it. Ariadne already knew from past experience that any adult conversations were going to have to be worked in around the children, or after they had gone to bed, but she was okay with that.

She was just having a great time being here, spending time with some of her closest friends. And she had been telling Cobb the truth. She was really happy for he and Eames. As strange and unexpected as their relationship was... she was happy for them.

***

"So, Ariadne knows," Dom said as he unbuttoned his shirt, once they'd all made their way to their respective bedrooms at the day's end. "Good thing I didn't take you up that bet."

Eames laughed, and it was good to hear him able to give an audible chuckle, instead of the soundless huffs he'd been restricted to just a few months back, much less directly after being shot. "I told you. You've never been half so subtle as you think yourself to be."

Dom restrained himself from rolling his eyes, but only just barely. He was a man in his mid-thirties who had two kids, who had lost his wife in the worst way possible, who had spent two years on the run, doing illegal things to survive, and yet something about Eames and interacting with Eames made him feel like a teenager again. A giddy teenager who was madly in love.

Eames didn't need to know that last.... But then, much like Ariadne, Dom suspected that Eames already did know.

"Bite your tongue," he commanded, switching his pants for pajama bottoms. Eames was already stripped to his boxers and didn't seem to have any inclination to put anything more on -- not that Dom was going to complain about that. "Or I won't get up early and make us all breakfast."

"Such a threat," Eames deadpanned, taking the three steps it took to bring him into Dom's personal space. He slid his left arm around Dom's neck, his right hand resting heavily on Dom's hip because he still couldn't raise it any higher than that, and leaned in to press their lips together in a soft, moist kiss. "You know that I can cook breakfast now, right?"

He was right. The truth was that he was capable now, and Dom was extremely glad of it. "I have a better idea," he murmured, ringing Eames' bare waist with his hands, fingers spread over the warm, smooth flesh. Eames was beginning to gain back a little of what he had lost, and it was a visceral pleasure, touching him like this, holding him, caressing him. "How about we cook breakfast _together_?"

"But then what will you withhold in threat?" Eames asked, leaning into Dom's embrace with something suspiciously like a purr. "Never say sex."

Dom snorted. "Now you're just being ridiculous. Go brush your teeth."

"Yes, master," Eames rumbled, kissing him soundly again, before doing as directed, headed for the bathroom. Dom figured he would follow once he'd turned down the bedcovers. It wasn't as intimate as kissing or even as shaving, but Dom liked sharing a sink with Eames while they were getting ready for bed.

Despite their banter, he and Eames hadn't quite worked their way up to sex yet. Not due to any hesitation or lack of desire on either of their parts. In his younger ears Dom had lived up to the expected cliche and experimented in college, well before he'd met Mal, and he'd liked it. Obviously Eames had been with at least one man, since he and Arthur had been lovers, even though Dom didn't want to ask how many others there had been. So it wasn't that. But no matter how much better he was doing, Eames still wasn't up to something so strenuous. Almost, Dom thought. Almost. But he wasn't going to risk Eames' health, wasn't going to set back his recovery in the pursuit of his own pleasure, no matter how much he knew that Eames wanted it too. So they were taking it slowly.

But that didn't mean that there wasn't plenty of kissing, touching... snogging, as Eames called it, even though Dom had asked him more than once to stop doing so.

"James called me Dad again," Eames told him as Dom brushed his teeth. Eames was done, but he remained where he was, leaning into Dom's side, not getting in the way, just staying close. Warm and breathing beside him.

"Yeah, Ariadne told me," Dom spoke through his mouth full of lather and toothbrush, knowing that Eames would understand him well enough. He spat, rinsed, then asked more clearly, "You don't mind, do you?"

Eames shook his head, meeting Dom's gaze in the mirror as he pressed a kiss to his shoulder through the material of the teeshirt he was wearing. "Not really. It still seems strange to me, but if it's how he feels... then I'm nothing so much as I am flattered and humbled."

Dom smiled, wiping his mouth on a washcloth, then turning slightly to share a minty-fresh kiss with Eames. His lips were still chilled from the water but Eames' were warm, and it was an invigorating contrast, only adding to the pleasure of their kiss.

"Ready to get to bed?" Dom asked, folding Eames in his arms again and enjoying the softness of his skin. He hadn't had a lover since Mal, which was coming up close to three years now, and he had missed the sensation of touch, the closeness, the pure pleasure of holding someone that he loved in his arms. It wasn't about sex, though sex was nice. It was the emotion, the indulgence, the sweet intimacy of it. Those were the things he had missed.

"Absolutely," Eames murmured, his tone sultry, his hand hot where it came to rest on Dom's side, stroking him through the weave of his shirt. This was good, because it meant that Eames' circulation was working properly again. Dom still remembered, back in the days, weeks, months after Eames had been shot, how cold his hands had been, how he'd had to warm Eames with his own body heat when he had carefully pulled him close in bed.

Things were so much improved now. And the kids seemed to be feeling more confident as well; it had been almost a week since either of them had crawled into bed with Dom and Eames, and that had only been because James had had a nightmare about dinosaurs. Dom didn't want his son to have bad dreams at all, but much better he dream about a scary creature that Dom could assure him wasn't real any longer, than about the scary things that had happened to him so far during his short life.

Phillipa was still hovering around Eames during most of their waking moments, but as long as Eames didn't have a problem with this, neither did Dom. And Eames didn't seem to mind, though he was going out of his way to make sure that she knew he was doing all right now.

As Eames got better, so did the kids, Dom thought. And he was pretty sure that his own mindset improved as well. All of them were settling quite well into the new way that things were. It was gratifying to see.

Dom wasn't sure quite what to expect as he and Eames slid under the covers and he stretched to flick off the bedside lamp. Eames had seemed uncommonly energetic and full of good cheer all day, as though anticipating Ariadne's arrival and being in her presence had raised his spirits. Dom wasn't jealous; he was just happy to see Eames so full of life.

Well, maybe he was a _little_ jealous. But he was the one in bed with Eames right now, not Ariadne, so it was all right.

As he rolled back toward Eames, Eames rolled into Dom. Eames was able to lie on his left side now instead of only on his back, and though he moved carefully, stiffly, he was able to slide his right arm over Dom's ribcage, his hand broad and bold as it made its way up toward his shoulderblade.

"Really?" Dom murmured into Eames' mouth, as the other man pressed in close enough to claim his lips with an assurance that was extremely promising.

"Absolutely," Eames rumbled again, and his tongue ran wet and hot along the swell of Dom's lower lip. Dom wanted to grab Eames and pull him close, but instead he traced the rough scars marring the otherwise clean plane of Eames' chest. He needed the reminder. Both of why he should be careful, and that Eames was alive and healing. The two facts weren't the extreme contradictions that they seemed to be.

"Tell me this extra enthusiasm isn't due to Ariadne's presence in the house," Dom said, pulling back slightly, but allowing himself to draw Eames into his arms at the same time. "Because this seems like one hell of a coincidence."

The startled expression on Eames' face, which he could see even in the darkness of the room, went a long way to reassuring Dom. As did the light laugh that Eames loosed once he'd recovered from his surprise. "How would that even--" Eames shook his head. "Now you're being ridiculous again." Before Dom could think of anything to say, Eames continued. "I guess this does seem a bit coincidental. But the fact of the matter is that I just... I just feel _good_ today. And I don't know that it has to do with our darling little architect's visit, but I suppose I can't definitively state that it doesn't. You know that I do tend to have a powerful streak of exhibitionism running through me."

"I do," Dom admitted, already feeling completely reassured, as he had expected. "But _you_ know she's in the other wing. There's no chance of her hearing... anything."

"Mm." Eames pressed closer, and Dom could feel the other man's arousal beginning to press hard against the front of his boxers, could feel his own cock twitch in reaction, inside his pajama bottoms. "But just _knowing_ that she knows... that in the morning she'll see the hickeys...."

"Hickeys?" Dom laughed, but it came out more husky than he'd intended, and he allowed his hand to make its way down to where he could palm Eames' firm ass cheek, giving it a quick squeeze, because how could he not.

"I'm game if you are," Eames rasped, and his teeth nipped, sharp but gently, at Dom's chin, then down the angle of his jaw.

"Are you sure?" Dom asked, meaning so much more than hickeys.

"Absolutely," Eames said a third time, and then his lips were plush and his tongue was wet and blunt against the pulse in Dom's neck, moving up to nuzzle at the hollow behind his ear. And it should have sounded silly, his using the same word to reply to three different questions, but it was just hot, knowing that he felt so certain.

Dom sighed, then gave himself mental permission to take and touch and taste as well. Only.... "If there's one twinge, one sign that you're hurting, I'm stopping," he warned, not sure how far Eames intended they go tonight, but perfectly willing to match him step for step. "And I expect you to tell me immediately if I do anything to cause you pain. Promise me."

Instead of saying "absolutely" a fourth time, Eames whispered, "Promise," in Dom's ear, then set about giving him the first of the evening's hickeys.

Dom very much intended that it not be the last, though.

***

The sun was warm and the air was filled with the scent of salt. Eames didn't think he'd ever enjoyed being at the coast more.

Granted, he was restricted to staying underneath the shade that Dom had brought, and the walk down to the sand had rendered him breathless and a little sore, but it was all worth it. Especially watching Pippa and James racing at the edge of the water with Ariadne, and knowing that Dom wasn't able to hide the marks Eames had left on him the night before, even though he'd insisted that the majority of them remain below his collar. Evidently he had forgotten that they had been planning a trip to the beach. Eames found this to be far more amusing than he maybe ought. He certainly knew that Ariadne had found it to be amusing.

Right now Dom was kneeling in the spot where the damp sand met the dry, building castles with his children, his hair windblown and his cheek red. He had never looked so appealing, and Eames felt violently affectionate and fiercely possessive at once. It was just a good thing that he could be almost completely sure Ariadne had no intentions toward his man.

Speaking of Ariadne, she flopped down beside him on the blanket, underneath the shade, her hair damp at the tips, her eyes alight. She was wearing shorts and a short-sleeved top, and Eames thought that it was strange to see her without one of her precious scarves hanging low around her neck. He also hoped she had remembered to put on sunscreen; else her pale skin wouldn't fail to burn. He himself was wearing slacks and a button-up, but that was more to hide his scars and the weight he had yet to put back on than to shield his flesh from the harsh sun.

"How are you doing, Eames?" Ariadne asked, digging in the cooler until she came out with a soda. Despite her distraction, he could tell that she was honestly concerned about him and his health.

"Good," he replied, accepting the second can that she held out to him, even though he wasn't thirsty and had a half-filled water bottle sitting beside him. "As long as I just sit here like a lump, it's all good."

He hadn't meant to sound so bitter, honestly, but it still rankled, the enforced inactivity on a man who had been used to doing whatever he wanted, who was still young and ought to be in his prime.

Ariadne gave him a sympathetic look, but just shrugged. "The kids are happy to be here; that's what matters most, right?" she said. Not demeaning his own angst, but giving him something positive and true to focus on instead.

"Of course," he said simply, smiling at her to let her know he wasn't offended.

She sighed and sank down on the blanket, leaning back on her elbows, her little feet kicking up, bare, toes sandy and wiggling. Someday she was going to make some lucky man very happy, Eames mused with a vague fondness. But not Arthur, and definitely not Dom. He knew it was selfish of him, but he was grateful for both these facts.

"I'm glad you were able to make it this far, though," Ariadne continued, giving him a sunny smile. "It was such a shock, seeing you the first time. You know, _after_."

Eames sighed and nodded.

"Sorry," Ariadne said.

"No, it's not something to avoid talking about," Eames told her. "As long as the babies aren't around. But it's in the past now."

Ariadne nodded, sipping her soda, her eyes on Dom and kids now. She didn't look as though she intended to move any time soon. Eames didn't mind. Now that he'd had stillness forced on him, he had discovered that it was nice to have someone to be still with. And Ariadne understood so much, without saying everything, without trying to get him to talk about it. She was good company and a good friend.

Down by the water, James was screaming and chasing seagulls. Pippa was on Dom's shoulders, and Eames wished that he was walking with them. Well, maybe after they ate lunch he would have the energy to join them for a slow, short stroll. He didn't want to push things, but neither did he want to be completely left out.

"It's a beautiful day," Ariadne said dreamily, as Dom began herding the children back toward the shade they sat underneath.

"It is," Eames replied softly, raising a hand as Pippa waved wildly and James began dashing their direction, puffs of sand rising underneath his little feet. It really was, in every way that counted. And not just because of the flawless blue sky and cool breeze.

It might have taken three bullets to the chest, but Eames had gotten his fresh start. It wasn't anything he might have ever expected, and it was something of a miracle that he had recognized it when he had seen it, but here he was, and there was nowhere else he would have chosen to be.

Eames had no idea what he would have done without Dom, but the beauty of it was that he didn't have to figure it out. Because Dom was here, and he was here for Dom.

This was their fresh start, and they were in it together, as it should be.

It had taken a long time and a lot of heartache along the way, but Eames had found his way home. It was a dreadful cliche, but home was where the heart was, and this was where Eames was going to stay.

He was home, here in Dom's heart. And Dom was at home in his.

"It's a beautiful day," he murmured, as his family joined him under the shade. And there was nowhere else he would ever want to be.

Dom smiled at him, and there it was; the rest of his life.

Eames smiled back.

[end]


End file.
